The End of Everything
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: The End of Everything is coming, and the fate of the universe finds itself resting awkwardly in the chubby little hands of a three-year-old boy. WARNINGS: Lang, Violence, Death Imagery. Family/Drama. An EPIC De-Aging Story with a Plot. DaddyBats, De-aged Dick Grayson, Pre-Robin Jason Todd. JLA, Teen Titans, & an array of assorted villains guest stars.
1. Prologue

**Although the prologue not strictly necessary to the enjoyment of the story, it _is_ helpful and will give you some insight and information that will be sought after by our heroes later on. If you choose to skip it, you can catch up on what is happening as Nightwing or Batman figure it out . . . . But if you choose to read this, don't worry too much about the names as only two or three of the characters continue on. I promise, this story will be worth the effort!**

 ***Just a reminder: I do not own DC or its characters. I am not receiving any financial gain for this story, just entertaining myself and a few others for free. Although reviews, faves, and follows are always welcome. ;D ***

 **Warning: Language, Some Violence . . .**

* * *

 **58 BCE -**

"Is it over?" Nola asked, pulling her brown cloak around her more closely. It still smelled of Sulphur and smoke but she didn't care. She felt lucky to be alive; they all did. There weren't many of them left . . . Priests and priestesses, Druids all. "Please, say it is over."

"It will be. There is but one task that still remains," the voice of Morrigan, the Celtic goddess of death, warfare, and rebirth, rumbled and echoed around the valley still, despite her weakened state.

Of the eight Celtic and local gods who had united their powers in battle on behalf of the earth, only Morrigan endured. It was to their shock and horror that the Druid priests discovered that their gods were not immortal after all, that they were just as capable of dying as their feeble human worshippers.

And if their world had been saved, their religion had not. Oh, they would soldier on, but how effective would it be when Seven of their gods and goddesses were dead, and what other gods there were had fled this land for another realm altogether. Druidism would soon be as dead as Cernunnos, Lugh, and Mandred; as dead as Airmid, Belatucadros, Anu, and Cerridwen were now. Morrigan, the last of their pantheon, planned to desert her followers soon for another place in which she could lick her wounds and that contemplate the fate of the gods and that of her own newfound mortality.

Loegaire buckled another leather strap over the lid of the iron box and tugged it tight.

"What you do is a waste, Irishman," Myrdden, one of their Welsh kind, told him from where he lounged against one of the many broken stones. It had once been part of a ring of standing stones that marked a sacred place of worship. "If that lock fails, there is nothing a few leather straps can do to hold her there."

The Scots priestess, Fiona, shivered from where she huddled against the only tree within a mile at his words. The wind blew her blonde hair across her face but she was too exhausted to gather it; she left it to tangle in the breeze. It was the Summer Solstice and yet it was as cold as the grave. Phelan, another of Irish blood, thrust his filthy sword into the earth and pulled his own green robe on. Whether it be from the cold he hid or to cover his torn clothes and battered body, no one knew but then, neither did they care. All were beaten today for all that they were the victors. Such a victory as this surely felt hollow to those left standing.

"It is not to hold her, Myrdden," Phelan said. "It is a warning to any who foolishly think to release her."

Cailean laughed. It sounded harsh, as if the Scot had been strangled recently. It was entirely possible that he had been, such was the war that had been waged over many long weeks. "You would think that the lock itself would be deterrent enough," he said gruffly.

"Who could open a lock without the key?" the lovely Maeve asked. Her hands shook slightly as she nervously braided her long, mahogany hair. The skirt of her fine purple gown had been shredded and long red scratches could be seen marking the pale skin of her legs.

"It has no key," Sloane, of the Angle Druids, reminded them.

"Not if the Angles do their jobs, that is," Cynwrig snapped. He and Belenos were Celtic Druids who claimed no land as their own but traveled throughout the Isles and even to the continent beyond the Channel.

Kimball, another of the four Angles present, glared at the warrior priest. "Worry about yourself," he declared, angrily. "We will do _our_ part!"

Of dark hair and eye, Rhiannon shared the title of English Druid priestess with Nola. They, along with Kimball and Sloane, were all that remained of the several hundred English Druid warriors that had come to join the battle. She twisted at the bit of parchment in her hands. Those hands that had once been soft and white were now filthy with ragged nails. One nail was missing altogether, she noted absently, and wondered briefly where it might have been lost.

"We will tell the story and spread the legend far and wide so that all will fear this cursed place for the rest of time immemorial," she vowed.

" ** _No_** ," Morrigan commanded. Many of the leaves on the nearby Rowan tree withered at the sound of her voice. "No one must hear of this. No legend must exist that might lure the curious. There will be those who will covet the power and believe they might find a way to contain and control it, her. As you who survive know all too well, they will not be able to do so," the goddess warned. "Instead, you will go far and wide to those who live and warn them to forget what has happened here," Morrigan decreed.

Belenos scoffed, forgetting himself. "And who would be able to forget _this_?" He threw up his arms to encompass the carnage around them.

The land was riddled with a thousand charred and bleeding bodies of their fellow priests. They lay amongst those soldiers of that creature, an undead army, that had finally returned to a state of just plain dead with her defeat. The blood of those once living had mixed with the dirt to make a mud that stained boots and tunics alike a dark red color. Indeed, the destruction ran many miles in every direction. Few things remained alive in this dead zone: a lone rowan tree, one goddess, and the sixteen of them . . .

Morrigan's eyes flashed. "If they cannot forget, then vow them to silence! Cut out their tongues if need be! But, for the sake of your world, this must never be spoken of again."

With what little power she could yet command, the goddess lifted the enormous stone altar that lay in the center of the sacred circle and set it aside. Dermot, Gaenor, Iagan, and Uthyr took up tools and began digging. If they lack a digging tool, they used their swords and daggers. Belenos, Cynwrig, Kimball, and Loegaire rolled heavy boulders and smaller stones out of the way.

Myrdden, Phelan, Cailean, and Sloane replaced the weary as the four priestesses chanted and wove powerful wards over the circle itself. Blood was drawn from enchanted blades and dribbled in streams of red around the sacred ground. The sun was dipping low in the sky when Morrigan told them to cease. The hole was deeper than any would bother to bury a man. Hopefully, it was deep enough that the land itself would forget what it harbored within its soil, the iron box was lowered into the depths of the earth.

* * *

Morrigan held out her hand and took the parchment. "This will be all the deterrent the unwise will receive. If any should forego its warning, your world will be laid waste as did her world before us."

Uthyr glanced to the north, toward the place where she had come through. "And what of the portal, my lady? What if another should find its way through?"

Morrigan turned away as if his words were nothing. "None will follow," she said dismissively. "None were left to follow."

"Is that what **_she_** told to you?" Gaenor asked.

"It is Truth," Morrigan said as she held the parchment in the direction of the rising moon. "She is the End of Everything . . . The Raven Empress, and she brings death wherever she goes."

"Is that why you alone survived?" Nola asked. "Because you also are a goddess of death and war?"

"And rebirth," Gaenor added.

Dermot shook his head. "And yet you leave us."

She did not know why she alone still stood. Morrigan looked over the sixteen, warriors all. "You will not be alone for long," she promised. "One greater will come to replace what you have lost in time."

"One capable of defeating her?" Iagan asked, indicating the altar, now back in its place.

"If you could so convince Him," Morrigan muttered cryptically, "perhaps . . . but that is only if she escapes her prison. I fear for this world then for her mercy is not known."

With a wave of her hand, the Rowen tree bloomed anew. She was the goddess of rebirth as well as death. Seedlings sprouted around the outside of the sacred circle: Rowen trees, to guard this place. The sixteen warrior-priests and priestesses gathered around her, beaten and bloodied, wearied to their very bones, but not broken. Not yet.

 _That is good_ , she thought, for while the rest of them would sink into forgetfulness, one of them would be condemned to remember and guard against the day that Dal' Riata Abn'La would break free of her prison. That Chosen would return gather the warriors of this world together once more to fight for their very existence.

It was not for her to grant immortality, not when her own was in jeopardy. She would, instead, open the gate to the _Tuatha De' Denann_ , for time worked differently there. It would be there that the Chosen would remain, waiting and ever vigilant; returning only when the raven witch escaped or when time, itself, ceased to exist.

* * *

 **3 Days Ago -**

Melanie Williams was excited. The legend was unheard of and, although she was tempted to write it off as a joke on the part of a local to entertain the archaeology students that were interviewing them, this one had a bit of truth to it. She had gone out to where the drunk had indicated and it was just as he said. The ring of ancient, sprawling Rowen trees guarding a broken circle, the inside of which was barren of all living things, at its center a damaged altar . . .

No one else had been willing to give credence to his claims. They said his family had been crazy forever, claiming they had a secret knowledge of a war that happened over two millennia ago. At any other time, Melanie might not have bothered with the old fairy tale but for two things: she had seen the circle for herself, going out the day before despite warnings that the place had been cursed for ages. Then, yesterday, near the dig she was apart of, there had been a mass grave of some sort discovered within a couple of miles of here that seemed to corroborate the man's wild allegations.

No one else believed him but, somehow, Melanie did.

She was there in this obscure part of Wales with a number of other students from Gotham University that were picked to accompany their professor on an archaeological dig nearby on Roman ruins found in the area eight months ago, although they had only been here for three weeks. But if this story had a shred of evidence to back it, this could be bigger than that! After all, that the Romans had been to the British Isles was a well-known fact. This dig was just one piece of a many that merely substantiated what everyone already knew. But an unknown war that happened long before the Romans were a presence here . . .

Would Professor Whitmore listen to her, though? She couldn't go to him without proof. Melanie was the youngest on the trip, only a second-year student. The only reason she was given permission to come along was because a third-year student had gotten caught cheating on an exam and been expelled. Everyone else was her senior by at least two years.

It might as well be twenty years, she grumbled silently to herself.

She couldn't do this by herself, however. That was why she searched out graduate student, Greg Middleston, to help her. He had been interested when she had first come to him with this wild story. Now that she found the location, she had no trouble talking him into accompanying her to the place that afternoon.

Melanie brightened when she saw Greg standing at the Rowen trees. He had a shovel with him. Her eyes widened as she realized that he was going one better.

"Greg," she called as she hurried over. "You found the place okay?"

"It was a little rough-going there for a while. Got lost for a bit but . . . Man! This is fantastic, Melanie," Greg grinned at her. "It's just like you described it."

"What's with the shovel," she asked. "If this is to be a legitimate dig, we have to report it. There will be paperwork and licenses and permissions to go through first."

"Do you really think there will be something here," he teased her gently. "An iron box that holds a mysterious token of good luck that's supposed to be older than the Roman settlement on the other side of the village?"

Melanie frowned. "He didn't really say it was good luck exactly . . ."

Greg laughed. "Melanie, come on! The guy's a drunk. He and his family have been telling this story for years. Not even the local vicar believes him."

"Then why did _you_ come?" she asked, glancing at the shovel pointedly. "Why did you bring a shovel with you if you didn't believe it?"

* * *

Greg squinted over the scene in front of them. The barren circle of broken stones that looked like no human had ever touched it in centuries, the ancient Rowens that hid this place from curious eyes. Even knowing it was here, he had had trouble finding it, like you weren't supposed to notice it. Despite what he told Melanie, he felt sure that there was something of value in this place. Whether it was some rumored magical token that promised power or riches or success, or just some kind of ancient relic, it was worth something to somebody, somewhere.

And Greg had debts. He had loans. He would be graduating in the spring and there wasn't exactly a waiting list for newborn archaeologists. But he knew a guy . . . Greg had met him four years when he had been chosen to attend a dig in Egypt during summer, a guy who knew how to find things and, better yet, how to sell them.

He picked up his shovel and walked into the ring, a chill washing over him. Greg decided that it was adrenaline, excitement over the find they were going to make. Melanie followed him out slowly, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands up and down them. Cold or nervous, he figured. He turned around upon reaching the altar. There was evidence that the Druids made human sacrifices here under the full moon. He didn't know for certain if that were true, the ancient people didn't leave a written record, but there were numerous written accounts by others that they did.

Of course, Greg's expertise was Egyptian artifacts and the civilizations of the Middle East, not Druids and ancient Celtic lore or even Roman settlements. He was simply here because it looked good on his resume.

"Where did he say it was buried?" Greg asked.

"U-Under the alter," Melanie said quietly. "Greg, this is wrong."

"It's only wrong if we find something," he assured her. "We're not going to find anything."

"Then why . . .?"

"I'm doing you a favor," he said. "If you were to go back and tell Whitmore about this place, he's not going to believe you and you're going to look ridiculous."

Melanie's eyes widened, worried.

"But what would be worse, would be if Whitmore _did_ believe you and started the paperwork to get permission to authorize a dig here and then, after a couple of years and thousands of dollars, they find nothing . . ." Greg seemed to slump. "You don't want _that_ mark on your record. Trust me, Melanie, that would be the end for you, even before you truly began."

There was movement through the trees and someone hallooed.

"Anyone here? Hello?"

"Over here," Greg called out.

As another man entered the circle, Greg smiled. "Glad you could make it? Have any trouble?"

This was the fellow he had met in Egypt four years ago. They had been working together on projects ever since, even if Skip himself wasn't approved; Greg would always work with him on the side. Another year of this, and Greg would not only be able to pay off his debts but would have a little nest egg to tide him over in hard times. In fact, if there _were_ any truth at all to Melanie's claim, he could be set for life.

"Locating it? A bit or I'd have been here sooner," the other man answered in the accent of a local. He was tall and broad through the shoulders and had tanned skin that stopped at his elbows, indicating he worked outside a lot. "So, this is the place. Huh? Never knew this place existed and I've lived in the next county all my life. Who's the girl? She the one you told me about?"

Melanie stepped backward as the stranger's hard gaze swiveled towards her. "Who is that? Greg, you weren't supposed to tell anyone!"

The man took his floppy hat off and ran a hand through his dishwater blond hair. "Well, now, I'm not exactly just anyone," he grinned. "My name's Skip. I've worked on sites like this most of me life."

"You're an archaeologist?" Melanie asked skeptically.

"You could say that," Skip answered her cheerfully. "I am more of a procurer of a sort. I have clients that have interests in items of profound historical significance."

Melanie frowned. "You mean, like museums?"

"Museums, collectors, amateur historians, purveyors of antiquities," Skip said as he picked up a bag of tools and ambled over to them. He swung the bag onto the altar, making the other two wince at the clang and clatter.

"Take it easy, Skip," Greg said. "This place didn't survive centuries only to have you destroy it in the first five minutes of your arrival."

The man laughed. "This bugger is solid marble, chum. I doubt there's much I could do to hurt it." He turned in a circle and whistled. "Even if I did, who'd notice? This place has been demolished!"

"Grab a shovel and help. We have to be back at the Roman dig in the morning," Greg told him.

"You sure there is something here worth all this effort?" Skip asked, eyeing the ring critically.

"According to Melanie, there is," Greg told him as he picked up the shovel. "But we won't know for sure until we dig." He looked up at her. "Did he say if it was actually under the altar or next to it?"

Melanie blinked. "Um, he said _under_ the altar, ' _down further than a man would normally dig_ '." That last bit had been a quote. She looked at the slab of solid stone doubtfully. "We'd need a crane to move that thing. It has to weigh a couple of tons, at least."

Skip tilted his head as he considered it. After a moment, he nodded. "Right. Not going to be a problem."

"How do you figure that?" Melanie asked, uncertainly. She didn't know this other guy from Adam.

"The altar is what . . . Seven and a half, eight feet in length?" Greg smiled. "Whatever is under it would likely be in the center, so we'll just dig a hole next to it and when we get to the proper depth, we'll dig inward, under the slab."

"What if the sides collapse under the weight," Melanie argued.

"We'll prop it if we have to," Greg said. "It will hold, trust me."

"I _did_ trust you," Melanie snapped, staring at the two men. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"Seems strange that I've traveled the world in search of treasure and here I am, digging for it in me own back yard." Skip commented even as he sank his shovel into the ground and stepped on it. "So, what's the word, mate? What are we after?"

"A token of some sort," Greg said as he joined in with purpose. They were on a time crunch as it was. "Supposed to bring power and success to the one who wields it."

Melanie stepped back to avoid being hit by dirt. "That's not what he said," she corrected.

"Close enough," Greg shrugged. "Why else would there be a war waged for it? Why else would it be buried in an iron box?"

Skip's eyebrows rose even as he tossed another spade full of dirt to the side. "War? What war? I've lived here all my life and never heard tell of a war in these parts. Southeast of here, yeah, and up north, sure, but not 'round _here_. This here is just a bit of nothing. Anything and everything of import happened at least a hundred miles away."

"There is that Roman settlement we're here to excavate," Melanie reminded them.

Skip scoffed. "Roman settlements are a dime a dozen in the British Isles. My uncle up north tripped over one just last week."

Melanie moved around the altar and leaned against it, watching the two men dig. They were already hip-deep and getting deeper. "This war was supposed to have happened a couple of thousand years ago, or something like that, before the Romans came to Briton."

"Wait! Have you been talking to _Cadwallader_?" Skip stopped digging and glared at Greg. "I thought you said there'd be something here of value. Cadwallader is just some crazy drunk. He and his father and grandfather have all been talking about this secret history that no one else bloody knows about. Families that have lived here for as long as people inhabited the Isle and no one remembers any of this except for _their_ family."

Melanie scowled, coming to her subject's defense. "He said that they were all told to forget about it. That the priests were all telling them to never talk about it or spread the story to their children or children's children. He says his ancestor chose to rebel against the priests' authority. A great war occurred here and they were determined to remember it by passing the story down to the eldest living child, in order to continue the memory."

" _After two bloody thousand years_? How much of what was passed down had been altered? The story he tells, if there were even a shred of truth behind it, couldn't possibly be accurate after so long of time being passed down by word of mouth alone. They didn't keep written records back then, you know!"

"Well, he was right about this place. No one else seems to know about it, no one else could even find it, and yet here we are," Melanie argued. "So, that much appears to be accurate."

"He could have stumbled onto it at any point and made up his story," Greg stopped digging now.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "This place has been here for centuries, quite possibly for the two thousand years he claims, and yet no one else has ever just stumbled upon it before. How likely is that?"

Skip paused and thought about that. "It _was_ hard to locate. I think I walked around here for more than an hour before I heard your voices and found it." He looked around at the enclosed area suspiciously.

Melanie shrugged. " ** _I_** only found it again because I have been here before but, even then, I had some difficulty."

Greg laughed. "What? You two talk as if you think it's been _enchanted_! Are you saying this place has a spell on it to confound any who might try to find it?"

Skip looked a little nervous, a total reversal of his previous temperament. "You haven't been in this business as long as I have without running into a few unexplainable things."

Greg shook his head. "You know, I was thinking that mass grave they located between here and the ruins could have come from this war that drunk guy was talking about rather than being plague victims like they initially thought."

"Do they still think that?" Melanie became thoughtful. "Russ said that they found some old weaponry this morning that looks to predate the Roman settlement. Did they get the results to the carbon dating back yet?"

"I don't know. Maybe by now it has," Greg said, putting his shovel back into the dirt. "Anyway, I thought that the weapons and a large mass of dead bodies coupled with the rumors of an ancient war was reason enough to check this place out."

Silence reigned for a while, the only sounds were that of the wind and that of digging. Melanie went to get some water from the car and got lost again on her way back. The idea that there was a spell over the land to prevent trespassers flitted through her mind again. She wasn't superstitious but there _was_ a strange atmosphere around the place.

Eventually, Melanie made it through the Rowan circle and found the guys were deeper than she would have bothered to go. She tossed them each some water.

"You were gone a long time," Greg commented.

"I got lost," she muttered.

Skip glanced pointedly at Greg at this announcement but the younger man waved the look away.

"How are you going to get out of there," she asked curiously. They had to be more than twelve feet below the surface.

"We dug out handholds. Hey, you said it was buried deeper than one would normally go, right?" Greg asked. "What do you think? Should we go deeper or is this good enough?"

"Hell, no," Skip groused. "This is good enough," he said, wiping his brow with his dirty arm. He left a streak of mud across his forehead. He jammed his spade into the soil between his feet and drank his water in one, long draw. "A man wouldn't bother digging down past six feet, the depth of a common grave."

"So, then we start tunneling under the alter here," Greg tossed his own emptied bottle up and then marked the wall of soil at eight feet.

"Be careful," Melanie warned. "That altar could still fall on you."

"We'll keep it small to start with," Greg told them as he began digging again, this time beneath the altar itself. "We can always enlarge it should we need to."

Skip tossed the dirt Greg pulled free out of the hole and soon they fell into a rhythm. It wasn't long before the blade of the shovel hit something hard. Greg stabbed the earth again and a muffled clang sounded out. The two men shared a grin and then both of them started tearing the soil away from around the obvious metal object, hooting with triumph.

Melanie peered into the hole. "You found something?"

"We found something alright," Greg crowed. "And I'll be damned if it ain't a metal box of some kind."

It was heavy and solid, and it took both men to drag it from where it had been nestled for many long years from the looks of it. A thousand or two? Who knew? Who cared? Greg and Skip tied a rope around it and then Skip climbed out of the hole. He grabbed the rope with Melanie and they both pulled as Greg pushed and eventually the three of them managed to wrestle the box out of the hole.

Greg scrambled out, his weariness forgotten in the excitement. "Are we going to open it? Let's see what's inside!"

It was smaller than they had expected. It was heavy but not unmanageable for one man to handle should he have to. The iron box had three leather straps around it, inconceivably still in great shape.

Melanie frowned. "If this box had been buried for two thousand years, this leather should have rotted away long ago. It could hardly be more than fifty years old from the looks of it."

Greg shook his head. "Whatever! The box is obviously older than that. You can tell by the primitive construction."

"Old but it's sturdy and what's more," Skip added, "it's locked up tight." He looked at the girl. "I don't suppose Cadwallader said anything about a key?"

She shook her head. "Did you find anything else with it? Maybe the key is there."

Skip snorted. "Why bother to lock the box if you're just going to bury the key with it?"

But Greg was hopping back down into the hole. "I think there might have been something else. Maybe it will have a clue to where the key is stashed."

He climbed out a couple of minutes later with a filthy parchment scroll wrapped in rotted cloth in his hand.

"I found this. No key but it might tell us where it is," he panted.

"That scroll is parchment, isn't it?" Melanie asked. "It hardly looks more than a few decades itself."

"Yeah, unfortunately, way too good of shape to be the age the drunk was claiming," Greg agreed and then added with a laugh, "Unless you think it might be enchanted as well?"

"Open it up," Skip ordered, ignoring the snide remark.

They were interrupted by the call of a bird. Loud, it startled them and the three turned and gasped at the size of the raven now sitting in the branches of a Rowan tree. It turned its head and looked at them out of one eye and then out of the other.

"Whoa! Look at the size of that thing," Greg yelped.

"Is it dangerous?" Melanie scooted a little closer to her fellow student.

Skip scoffed. "Nah, the thing's a scavenger. It isn't interested in the living," he smirked at her. "It's only interested in the dead."

"It's creepy," Melanie complained.

"Oh aye, it is that," Skip agreed. "All the more reason to get this box somewhere where we can pry it open. I know a guy in the next town over. Close to the airport."

The two men picked the box up between them and prepared to carry it to the car. They were tired and, although one could have managed, working together was quicker. They hadn't made it out of the circle when a voice sounded out behind them.

"Ei roi yn ôl ac yn ôl i ffwrdd." ["Put it back and back away."]

Melanie turned as the men looked and blinked . . . and blinked again. The woman was tall and willowy but in no way frail by any means. She wore a deep brown cloak. Although the hood was up they could see her face easily. She was lovely with long, dark hair and eyes so dark they appeared to be black. She pushed back the folds of her cloak to expose silver chainmail over a green gown made of some coarse material and, most importantly, a sword . . . a very authentic-looking sword.

Pwy ydych chi?" Skip asked. "Mae eich acen rhyfedd. O ba le yr ydych yn cenllysg?" ["Who are you? Your accent is strange. From whence do you hail?"]

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Rydych yn deall fi, onid ydych?" she asked as her left hand clutched an amulet that she wore. Her right hand continued to hover noticeably above the hilt of her sword. ["You understand me, do you not?]

"Aye"

"Yna fy acen yw o unrhyw bwys. Byddwch yn gwneud fel eich wahoddasid," she snapped at him. ["Then my accent is of no importance. You will do as you are bidden."]

"What's she saying?" Melanie asked. "Who is she?"

"She's telling us to return the box and leave," Skip translated. "She didn't give a name."

Melanie licked her suddenly dry lips. "Maybe we should do as she says. How do we know she doesn't own this land? That box could be hers."

The woman frowned as the two conversed. Her grip on her amulet tightened. "You will return the box to its place and leave. Do not return!"

Greg's eyebrows shot up. "You speak English?"

"Nay," she denied. "I speak whatever is your language. I do not speak this Anglish."

Skip snorted. "Ye just did, right now. English."

The frown grew fierce and there was no mistaking the look of confusion that crossed her face fleetingly.

"Interesting but, alas, it makes no difference when the message is the same," she waved the discussion away. "Return the box to its place and go!"

"Or what?" Skip challenged. He ignored Melanie's shock.

In a blink of an eye, the woman's sword left the scabbard and was pointing it their direction. "Or else . . ." she left the warning hanging.

Melanie took a step back. "I think maybe we should do as she asks."

"Bloody hell," Skip cursed. "I didn't spend hours digging this up just to put it back because some trollope from a Renaissance festival starts waving her sword about. I've got a sword of me own, don't ye know?"

Greg shook his head. "I asked around. No one owns this piece of land."

"You got this?" Skip asked, letting go of the box.

"Yeah," he nodded, shifting to handle the heavy metal box on his own.

Melanie's eyes widened. "W-What are you _doing_? Just . . . put it back like she asked. Please?"

Skip turned toward the newcomer. "Lady, don't you know that you don't bring a knife to a gun fight?"

"G-Gun?" Melanie stammered. _Who the hell had Greg gotten involved with_? She slapped her hands over her ears and made for the car parked to damned far from here.

Skip pointed his piece at her. It should have been enough to scare her away but she merely looked at him quizzically. Greg was already moving off with the box. If this chick was willing to do damage for it, it had to contain something of value.

"Take the box to the airport," he said over his shoulder, "and stash it with the shipment heading to Gotham City. I've got contacts there who can pick it up and move it for us."

The other man took off, huffing under the weight of the bulky treasure but when the woman moved to intercept him, Skip stepped into her way.

"Ah, ah, ah," he warned her, waving the gun in a manner sure to get her attention.

Unfortunately, it did exactly that. In a move too fast to follow, the woman flung out her other hand and a dagger embedded itself in Skip's right shoulder, severing several important things including the median nerve. The gun dropped from his hand as he yelled. Skip pulled the dagger out and pointed it at the stranger.

"I will kill you," he roared, flinging the knife at her.

The woman dodged it handily and continued advancing; her sword whistled through the air as she spun it about her with startling ease and expertise. Skip's heart started pounding as he realized that she was the real deal. She apparently didn't bluff and the glint in her hard eyes told him he would find more compassion at the hands of some of his less-savory business acquaintances than with her.

Dropping to his knees, Skip reached blindly for his weapon with his left hand. Blood was pouring down his shirt front and down his useless right arm, more than he thought there should be. Black spots winked in and out of his vision but there was no mistaking when the woman stopped in front of him. With no gun and his vision tunneling . . . _She must have found a artery_ , he thought numbly, Skip looked up at her from his knees. He would be dead within minutes.

"Who are you?" he asked, belatedly clamping a hand over his wound. "Who?"

She glared down at him mercilessly. "I am the Druid priestess, Rhiannon. You dare to disturb the box and risk humanity for your petty greed. Pray you that I am able to return her to her resting place with her prison undamaged."

Skip blinked in confusion, his body swaying. "Prison? . . . W-Who's prison. Who is this . . . _she_ you speak of? he asked, panting. _Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden_?

Rhiannon snarled and raised her sword in preparation of the final blow. "She is the Raven Empress, the Goddess of Death, of Destruction and of Blood. She is, foolish mortal," the priestess swung her sword in a powerful arc, "the End of Everything!"

* * *

 **Yesterday –**

Dr. Edgar Sheridan adjusted his glasses on his nose. The day had been one disaster after another. The second shipment from the Wales excavation site had arrived hours ago, but he was only just now able to stop to check it in properly. God forbid should anything have been broken during shipment. Gotham State University was doing this project in conjunction with its sister school in Great Britain and would receive exactly half of the findings to catalogue, study, and display for its part in the excavation.

He used a crowbar to pry up the heavy wooden lid and heave it aside. He yanked out some of the packing material and picked up his clipboard containing the shipping manifest. There were several vases and other pieces of pottery that were declared intact upon the sealing of the container. There were . . . He paused.

"Oh dear," Sheridan lamented, picking up a large shard of broken pottery.

 _Their first casualty_ , he thought sadly. _Who was the ham-handed worker who had bungled this shipment_? _How could this have happened_?

As he dug further into the depth of the container, the older man's hands bumped into something hard and . . . cold? Like metal! The packing material around it was totally inappropriate for securing something so heavy and unforgiving as whatever this was. No wonder the vase had been damaged. He hoped that no other pieces of pottery had suffered the same results of what amounted to gross negligence upon those responsible for packing the artifacts.

To prevent further damage from shifting, Sheridan laid down his manifest and reached in with both hands to pull out the odd box. His fingers wrapped around leather straps and used them for handles to haul the box out from its hiding place. It was, indeed, heavy and he couldn't help wondering how no one noticed the weight difference between what the manifest claimed and what was reality. He set the box down on the table gently, despite its heft and bulk. It didn't take an expert to realize the box was an artifact in and of itself.

Turning on a magnifying, lighted mirror, Sheridan pulled it close. From what he could tell at first glance, the box was made of iron, although the leather was obviously a recent addition. It had icons and symbols etched into its sides . . . He turned it around. All sides, he corrected. The entire box was covered in, what was for him, was innumerable, unknown hieroglyphics. Sheridan was familiar with Egyptian picture writings but this . . . this was something different than anything he had encountered throughout his career.

No, wait! Squinting, Sheridan peered closer. This image of a bird looked familiar. Not Egyptian, obviously, but he had seen this before somewhere.

Frowning, Sheridan turned back to the container. Surely, they sent some kind of explanation for this relic. It was quite ancient and he roughly placed it in the Iron Age. So unusual, its uniqueness made it quite a valuable find. He wondered if it came from the Roman dig, but couldn't imagine how it must have gotten there. The site, itself, had been dated to around 245 CE but the iron box's construction, while quite advance for all intents and purposes, appeared to be from some other period.

His hand brushed a piece of cloth. Something was wrapped up in a rag of some sort. He tugged out the parchment next with something akin to disgust. It hadn't been prepared for travel at all, he noted, determined to find the culprits and make certain they lost their jobs for their mishandling of cultural treasures of intrinsic historical value. Tugging on a pair of gloves, Sheridan laid the parchment onto the table and spread it out.

More of the strange hieroglyphics. It matched those on the box exactly, appearing to be created from the same time period but it seemed impossible. The parchment was in excellent shape for being something so old. It had to be written at a later time.

 _Uh oh, part of it **had** been damaged . . . **intentionally** so_, Sheridan thought angrily.

"Who would treat you this way?" he complained to the items.

It took an hour but Sheridan had a partial clue to the box and its parchment companion origins. The symbol he had recognized had been a Druid sign of the raven. It meant death. Druids were renown for never leaving behind a written account but for all of that, there had been enough pictures carved into some of the famous stones of various standing stone circles to recognize the shape and determine that the box and the scroll had once belonged to a group of Druids . . . a high probability lying with the priest class.

"Well, as fascinating as you have been," Sheridan spoke softly, "you would be much happier, I think, in Bludhaven. I know of an excellent professor of linguistics who has more than a passing interest in Celtic lore and Druidism."

Sheridan pulled out a smaller box and began preparing it for transport. With care, he settled the box and parchment into its new container.

"Dr. Christian Everhardt," Sheridan whispered as he filled out the shipping label. "Professor of Linguistics and Ancient Studies at the Bludhaven Museum of Natural History."

* * *

 **3 hours Ago –**

"Where is it?" Gary pressed the knife into the professor's skin. A single drop of blood coated the blade and slithered down its cold surface. "I've been through too much and traveled too far to fail now."

Sheridan's glasses were askew and blood ran down his face from a cut on his forehead. His voice quivered as he answered.

"I-I s-sent it to Bludhaven . . . to Dr. E-Everhardt there," he stammered. "Christian Everhardt."

 _May his friend forgive him for this one day_ . . .

Sheridan recognized the graduate student but was careful to not use his name. The man had obviously seen better days if his ragged appearance was anything to go by. Bruises and a fresh scar ran across Gary's face from the corner of his left eye to his chin.

If the man was so far gone as to beat him senseless and deal in stolen antiquities, he might continue to press on the knife until he slit the old man's throat in order to protect his identity from the authorities. If Sheridan hoped to get through this alive, he must pretend to be stupid.

He wondered if Whitmore knew he had a viper in his midst? _Well, he would soon enough_ , Sheridan thought, _if I survive this night_.

Gary Middleston sheathed the knife and then struck the old man across the temple. Sheridan didn't feel his body hit the floor but he knew before he landed that he would live another day . . . _But would Everhardt_? Blackness slid around him without providing the answer.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? This is an odd chapter in that the only familiar characters you know are the cities of Gotham and Bludhaven and, as such, I really, truly want a bit of feedback from you. Please, review . . .**

 **I realize that there was a whole lot of OCs going on. And although this story will have more than the average amount of OCs, they are, with the exception of the goddess and the priestess, fleeting but necessary. I promise to make every one of them interesting during their brief stints. I don't believe in cardboard cutouts pretending to be real people. Now, one of the characters you seek shall be found starting in Chapter 1 . . .**

 **Oh, and btw, all the gods and goddess mentioned are taken from Celtic myth with the exception of Dal' Riata Abn'La, who is my own construct. She was created because I couldn't find a god that suited my purposes (and trust me, I looked). Morrigan was the closest but even she wouldn't do.** **Also, just to clarify, the Celtic symbol of death is NOT a raven. But I needed for it to be, so in this AU, it does. (In the real world, the image for death is 3 connecting swirls which, despite its simplicity, doesn't lend itself well to the written word.)**

 **In recent years, the terms BC and AD has been replaced with the terms CE (Common Era) and BCE ( Before the Common Era). BCE can be referred to "before the time of Christ" up until the start of the 1st century. **

**Give me a heads up if you like the artwork. That is an original piece done in colored pencils, ink, and watercolor by yours truly - Moi!**


	2. Not What He Wanted

**WARNING: Strong Language and Disturbing Images . . .**

* * *

Dick Grayson climbed out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel. Wiping the steam from the mirror, he looked at his reflection and tried to smile. It was a half-hearted attempt and wouldn't convince anyone, let alone himself.

"Obviously, I need to give you a pep talk," he told the nineteen-year-old in the mirror. "First thing's first. Happy Birthday. You have a lot to be thankful for this year, not the least is for that shower . . . and _hot_ water for a change."

It wasn't the first shower he had had in a while but close. It was only a week ago that he had been living in his car after the latest blow-up with Bruce. He snorted at that . . . 'Blow-up' was probably more accurate than any other word but it didn't properly reflect what had happened. Truth was, it wasn't the first one, merely the worst.

He grabbed a comb and ran it through his hair. It was starting to get long. Bruce would say something about it if he were here but then again, Bruce wouldn't step foot in a hole like he was living in unless he was wearing the cowl. Dick thought back over the last several months and the journey that had landed him here, in this . . . place.

It had started with the Joker. No, that wasn't the truth; it had actually started when he had been forced to admit to Bruce he had dropped out of college after just one semester. Bruce had been livid, of course, but it had become glaringly obvious to Dick that he wasn't cut out for the world of business and finance. His economics professor had certainly agreed with his assessment. Their relationship had already been strained because of all the time he had been spending with the Teen Titans. Bruce complained that Dick was too busy for Gotham anymore, that he was too often unavailable when Batman needed him but Joker had ended that particular argument, and most of the others as well, with a bullet . . . or rather two.

He had nearly died from that incident. But it wasn't as if he hadn't had close calls before. Two-Face had almost succeeded in doing Robin in when he was younger and just starting out, and that was as bad as any of the other near-death experiences he had suffered through over the course of years. But whatever the reason was, that time Bruce had had enough. He had fired Dick from being Robin, literally had taken his cape and mask from him.

Alfred had tried to assure him that the decision had been made in his own best interest, that Bruce had taken his most recent injury badly and worried that Dick would get himself killed if he continued. So, yeah, Bruce fired him because he _cared_ . . . Dick snorted.

* * *

He had left for Titans' Tower shortly after that but without Robin, what was the point? Dick had decided he needed to take a leave of absence from the Titans in order to ' _find_ _himself'_ and determine where he wanted to go in life. And that had led him to Metropolis and Superman. While he was there, this crazy idea came to him that he needed to go it alone, take on a new identity and forge a new path, his _own_ path – one that was out of the shadow of the Bat.

At that time, to say he and Bruce weren't talking wasn't exactly accurate. It wasn't like they wouldn't talk to one another, more like they just . . . didn't.

Dick could have gone back to the manor at any time but for three things. The first was simply because of Dick's anger. He was still sore at Bruce's high-handedness. Robin was his and Bruce shouldn't have been able to take that away from him. The second reason had been pride. Dick wasn't going to be the first to apologize for the things he had said. He wouldn't have said anything at all had Bruce not fired him. He had been certain that Bruce was going to regret what he did and eventually ask him to come back but he wasn't about to beg the man for his old job. It was the third thing that had eventually led Dick to Metropolis and that was doubt . . . doubt of where he stood in Bruce's life.

Dick had been eighteen at the time so, technically, he was no longer Bruce's ward. The man had finished his obligation to the State and to Dick. That he had been willing to pay for Dick's college was going over and above what was expected of him and it certainly hadn't hurt the man in the public's eye. But dropping out had hurt Dick. It had made him appear to be ungrateful. He wasn't. Dick understood exactly where he might have ended up if Bruce hadn't taken him in. All of that was less troubling to him, though, than wondering if Bruce's firing him had meant something more.

Did the man that Dick had come to think on as his father not want him around anymore? Had he become a burden? Was this Bruce's way of cutting Dick loose? After this last visit to the Batcave, there was no longer any lingering doubts in Dick's mind as to where he stood.

Sighing, Dick finished toweling off and moved into the bedroom of his cheap, two-room apartment to get dressed. He would still be living in his car if he hadn't called Alfred the week before last to ask him to pack up what was left of his clothes and a few other belongings, and ship them to him. The package had arrived at the post office box with an envelope filled with three thousand dollars in cash, probably from the old man's own savings account. It had enabled Dick to find a place to live and made certain he had something to eat until he could find a job.

Which he did . . . It was only a part-time gig at one of the higher-end clubs as a bartender but it was income. Hopefully, Dick thought he would eventually be able to save up enough to pay Alfred back for the loan. The older man would likely refuse it, insisting that it was a gift, but Dick didn't feel right taking it. He was tired of being a burden, tired of being someone else's problem . . . someone's charity case.

Waling into the closet, he pressed a panel. It had taken a chunk of the money Alfred had given him to create a small, hidden room at the back of his large, walk-in closet. The panel unlocked and Dick slid it open. In here, he kept his new costume; two sets of escrima fighting sticks, one set incorporating pronged stun technology; some newly-forged weapons he had, in a whimsical moment, dubbed 'wingdings; a computer dedicated to crimefighting; and the basic lab equipment for analyzing clues.

He was called Nightwing after the Kryptonian hero that Clark had told him about during his brief stay in Metropolis. If it also did honor to the man who had taken him in and taught him everything he knew about crimefighting . . . Dick shrugged that off. Bruce wouldn't see it as the honor it was meant to be anyway. He had made it abundantly clear that he wasn't interest in anything that Dick was doing now.

Pulling out his uniform, Dick tossed the damp towel onto the foot of the mattress that lay on the floor. Furniture was going to be scarce until he got another paycheck or two from his new job. He had more than enough to suit him at the moment, though. The mattress and a small dresser in the bedroom, a small kitchen table with two chairs, a lamp, and a scuzzy sofa that his neighbor had been throwing away; Dick had talked the guy into helping him move it into his place rather than down five flights of stair to the dumpster.

Walking into the main room, Dick flicked on the police scanner and opened the refrigerator. Pickings were just as slim in here. He made a note to swing by the grocery store and pick up a few things tomorrow before work. He ignored the week-old pizza and took out the Chinese leftovers from the previous evening, and grabbed the orange juice. No glasses meant he was drinking out of the carton but Alfred wasn't here to disapprove.

He flopped himself onto the musty sofa and ate. His mind wandered against his will to his last visit home . . . Ugh, he grimaced, correcting himself. To the _manor_ . . . No, he sighed. To _the Batcave_.

He had been gone for months with only an occasional phone call to Alfred. He hadn't spoken to Bruce at all during those seven months away. No matter the hard feelings he had when he left, Dick missed his family. At the time, Dick had thought, despite the silence between them, that Bruce had maybe missed him, too. He had reached a place where he was willing to take the first step to working out their differences and so, Dick had gone home.

Cave security had still accepted his code. He had taken that to be a good sign. Dick had ridden in on his bike, feeling optimistic when no alarms sounded, so imagine his surprise to see a dark head of hair sitting in his chair at the Batcomputer. Too short to be Bruce, too much hair to be Alfred, Dick blinked at the stranger.

"Who are you?" he had asked.

When the chair had spun around, Dick had felt his mouth drop open to see a boy gaping back at him whilst wearing the familiar red, green, and yellow of his Robin costume, right down to Dick's own mask and his short boots.

* * *

"What the hell?" Dick gasped. "Who are _you_?"

The kid, he couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen, stood up.

"Better yet, who are _you_?" he asked with an aggressive arrogance better found on someone older.

"I'm . . ." Dick remembered belatedly that he had shown up in his new costume, "Nightwing," he finished. "What are you doing here and who let you wear that uniform?"

Instead of answering, this ' _Robin_ ' sneered at him. "Nightwing, huh? Never heard of you."

Not likely since Dick had only just developed the alter-ego. That had been his first time wearing it in public, a full-bodied black suit, lightly armored through the torso and his forearms. A royal-blue emblem zigzagged its way across the chest and down the arms, ending at the two middle fingers of his gloved hands. His utility belt had been replaced with compartments found within the armored wristbands and along the top section of his boots. He's had gotten rid of the cape altogether.

"Well, I've heard of Robin and _you're_ not him! Where's Batman?" he asked in a growl. It looked like his homecoming was going to end in another argument.

 _What the hell was Bruce thinking_? _Had he gone out and recruited this kid the minute I left the last time_? Even if he had, the chances this kid had of being trained well enough to make it on the mean streets of Gotham were slim, let alone going up against the crazies that seemed to flock to this city. Dick hadn't been allowed to wear his costume until he had managed to put Bruce on his ass at least twice during sparring. _Bruce was going to get this kid killed_!

"The better question would be does Batman know you're here?" The Robin wannabe asked him. He stomped down the stairs to the lower level where Dick stood. "You should go now while you can still walk."

Dick smirked. "Who's going to make me, kid? _You_?"

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have chuckled at the idea. In hindsight, it was bad of him to goad the kid on like he had but someone needed to show him that he wasn't ready to tango with the big boys. Dick did note, during that meeting, that the kid had an explosive temper and a microscopically-short fuse just before the boy launched himself at him.

Dick dodged, using one hand to guide the incoming bullet train past him and with a light shove send him sprawling onto his stomach. His yellow cape fluttered down over the boy's head. The kid shoved it out his face and leapt to his feet. Dick had to admit, though, that his so-called replacement had stamina as well as a hard head. The Robin-pretender came at him again, going low this time and Dick flipped over his head, using his hand to push the kid back onto the floor as he flew by. Dick landed lightly on the balls of his feet and spun around.

The kid was quick, Dick thought, as his teenaged attacker charged him again. Again, Dick avoided him and sent him tumbling. He shook his head in disgust. The boy had no strategy. His temper sent him rushing an unknown opponent without a clue as to whether or not that opponent was his superior. He was foolish and impulsive, and that combination would get him killed.

The next time his substitute came at him, Dick added a kick to the boy's rump. The insult was too much and the boy came at him with a growl, spittle flying from his mouth. Dick caught him in a headlock and spun him about, holding him in place with a full-nelson as the kid cursed him like a sailor.

"Hold still, you brat," Dick snapped at him. "You're not going to get free."

The kid kicked back and landed his heel against Dick's shin, but the armor-plated utility compartments held up under the onslaught. Dick adjusted his stance and held the squirming dervish still while denying him any kind of target. Dick's extra height and weight made it easy to keep the boy contained. If he could handle him with so little effort, this kid was still months away from being capable of managing on his own during an average patrol.

" _Nnaargh_!" The boy's curses had dissolved into a mindless roar.

"Get a grip, will you? You're only going to hurt yourself if you keep this up!" Dick told him, but the kid was really too far gone to be listening anymore.

" _Jason_! Calm down," Batman's signature growl cut through the cave.

It took a second but eventually the boy's struggles had lessened and soon stopped altogether. He held completely still in Dick's hold, his breath heaving in and out.

"You can let go of him now," Bruce told him.

Dick looked at the kid in his arms, skeptically. "You sure about that?"

"Let him go."

Dick loosened his grip and Jason ripped himself away and stomped several feet away before turning to face him. Dick kept loose but remained in his defensive stance until he was certain the kid wouldn't be back.

Flinging an arm in the direction of the boy, Dick snapped at Batman. "Miss me much?"

"This doesn't concern you," came the short answer.

Dick blinked in shock. "Doesn't concern me? You told me you made a mistake taking on a partner. You said you worked better alone! I haven't been gone even 7 months and already some kid is dressing in my old costume and using _my_ name!"

Jason stared at him. " _You_ were the first Robin? I thought you were dead?"

" _Dead_?" Dick choked. "You told him I was dead?"

Batman's jaw seemed to harden. "I didn't tell him about you at all. He inferred that on his own."

He had been shocked at how much that had hurt . . . Still hurt. Like a knife between the ribs. Dick had lived with Bruce since he had been eight years old, been his partner since he had been nine. Although it had taken some time to happen, over all, it had been relatively quick that Dick had stopped looking at Bruce as just a guardian, as merely his mentor, as only a partner . . . and started seeing him as a father, as family.

"So, what happened to you?" Jason had broken the silence with that question. "I heard the Joker had killed you. Obviously, that isn't true. So, I guess you just couldn't cut it anymore? Gotham's a pretty rough town, huh?"

Dick sent the kid a scathing look and then stepped up to Bruce. The cowl kept his face hidden but Dick wasn't talking to Batman right now. He hoped to appeal to the man underneath.

"He shouldn't be wearing that costume," Dick declared angrily. "He's _not ready_ for it! You saw just now. He couldn't even hold his own with me! You take him out there now and you'll be burying him in the morning."

"Hey!" Jason protested.

"Quiet," Batman growled at him and the boy shut up.

Dick had seen the Batglare given thousands of times but never had he been on the receiving end of it before. It didn't so much intimidate him as it surprised him that Bruce would level it at him.

Batman's gaze took in the new costume.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he rumbled. He didn't sound impressed.

Dick glanced down at himself. He had been so proud of it. It had looked good, felt better, and he could move in it easier, smoother than he ever could wearing the yellow cape. Now, he eyed it critically as he imagined his mentor was doing. He wanted to ask what was wrong with it but he ground his teeth together in order to prevent the self-conscious words from flying out of his mouth.

Instead he said, "Nightwing."

"Nightwing," Bruce repeated. "Do I need to ask where that name came from?"

Dick felt a surge of anger. So, Bruce had been talking to Clark. He didn't know how much Clark had blabbed, so he changed the subject back to the previous one. The important one, in Dick's mind.

"Where did you find _him_? And for God's sake, why are you stuffing him in Robin's costume before he's ready? He's far from capable of holding his own out there and if you try, you'll be so distracted trying to protect him that you'll end up getting the both of you killed in the process!"

"That's not true," Jason yelled, unable to keep his silence.

Dick turned and snarled at him. "Robin's job is to protect Batman's back! If you can't pull your own weight, then you're a danger to _him_ as well as yourself!"

Batman interrupted as he turned back toward the computer. "I don't know why you came back. This doesn't concern you."

"Doesn't . . .? I came back because I didn't like the way we left things. I thought . . ." he hesitated. "I thought . . ."

Batman paused, turning his head slightly as he waited for Dick to finish his sentence. "Thought what?"

Whatever Dick had planned to say when he came here was gone. Whatever he imagined was going to happen was apparently in his heart alone but, inside, he was hemorrhaging from a wound he didn't think would ever heal. So, he did what any wild animal would do when someone poked at a particularly painful injury with a sharp stick: he had lashed out.

Appetite ruined by his memories, Dick set the carton of Chinese food aside.

He couldn't even remember everything he said. He had just wanted Bruce to feel the same hurt he was feeling. He had just wanted Bruce to understand . . .

Whatever their argument had been when Bruce had fired him months back, was nothing compared to the argument they had that night, nearly four weeks ago. Nose to nose, both of them snarled and growled and threatened, and then Dick, unthinking and in a rage, had pushed him. Bruce had struck out immediately, backhanding Dick so hard he had flown backward from the force of it. Stunned, it had taken him a minute to pick himself up off of the cave floor.

Bruce had never struck him purposely, not once. Sure, they had sparred and, most of the time, it was Dick that took the brunt of it but that was sparring. The punches Bruce had thrown then had been pulled. They had been aimed at readying him for the dangers he would face in Gotham's streets, not meant as punishment or abuse.

Batman was always in control but he hadn't been then. The fury radiating off of him had been palpable. Dick glanced over as saw Jason staring at them both with real fear in his eyes. The boy was backing away towards the steps that lead to the manor. In a flash of insight, Dick realized that Jason was going to get Alfred. It was a smart move. It gave him hope that the boy wasn't completely unsuited to this life of vigilantism. If only it wasn't too late.

"GET OUT," Bruce had screamed at him.

No, it was not growling or even yelling. Bruce was red-faced, veins-throbbing, spittle-flying screaming . . . at Dick!

What had he said? What had he done? Dick's mind went blank even as his face went white. Wiping the blood from his chin, Dick had thrown himself on his bike and fled. He had raced back to the safe house where he had parked his car. The bike would be safe enough until he could come back for it. Batman seldom used this place since it bordered one of the less crime-ridden zones in the city. He wouldn't bother coming here.

Dick had changed out of his costume and into street clothes and driven away. He didn't have a direction at the time, didn't care where he ended up, and didn't stop until he had suddenly realized that he had not only left Gotham City but driven nearly an hour south of there. He was entering Bludhaven . . . Gotham City's ugly, little sister. Even more pathetic and crime-ridden than Gotham herself.

He found a twenty-four-hour parking garage and paid the fee. Parking it in an out of the way location, far from other vehicles, Dick had locked the doors and curled up in the backseat to sleep. He had stayed there for the better part of two-weeks, only leaving to get food or use one of the public restrooms in a nearby department store or in the convenience store down the street. He had stayed there and slept . . . or cried because, let's face it, he had lost everything in his life all over again.

Worse, he thought, because this time, fate hadn't torn his family from him through death. This time, he couldn't take comfort in knowing that the people he had lost still loved him even though they had been taken from him against their will. Bruce hadn't died . . . Alfred, as much as the older man might have cared for Dick, was loyal to his employer far more than he was to an upstart circus brat. Dick had lost his father all over again and, by default, his grandfather figure, but not because of death.

Bruce, for whatever reason, no longer loved him . . . if he ever did.

Dick might have still been there feeling sorry for himself had someone not tried to break into his car. That last night, after he had sent the would-be car thief running, Dick had changed into his Nightwing costume and took to the rooftops of Bludhaven for the first time. Before dawn, Nightwing had foiled four muggings, two attempted B&Es, two rapes, and three armed robberies. How much more might have he accomplished had he a better grasp of the city and his surroundings?

It was obvious that he couldn't go back to Gotham City but never was there a place more in need of its own hero than Bludhaven. Even most of the cops were said to be on the take here. Dick had sat on top of one of the buildings and watched the sun come up on that cold March morning and made the decision to stay. He would return only for his bike and maybe allow Batman to donate another of his grapple guns to the cause, but it was time to take his life back into his own hands.

With Alfred's gift, he had.

* * *

Dick had felt better during the past few days than he had in months, finding the ratty apartment and his job, such as it was. Life was looking up but for today. Nothing really helped him feel better today. He sighed, and climbed to his feet. He took what was left of his leftover dinner and shoved it back inside the nearly empty fridge. He took stock of what was left. Half a quart of milk, less than that of orange juice, three eggs, and the week-old pizza . . . and Chinese.

No cake this year.

"Happy Birthday to me," Dick sighed again. Nineteen and nobody cared. "So not what I wanted this year," he muttered.

To celebrate, he decided to find some lowlifes to pummel. He could use the workout and they could use his help in deciding to pursue a new occupation. Carefully applying his new mask and grabbing his escrima sticks, Nightwing exited out through the window over the sink in his kitchenette and shot a grapple hook into the night.

* * *

Vince stuck his head in. "Dr. Everhardt? Delivery," the museum's security guard called out.

Dr. Everhardt was a thirty-something man with dark hair. He wore gloves on his hands and was leaning over an ancient document, a lighted magnifying glass over it. He turned his head, waving the guard in.

"It's after hours," Everhardt reminded him.

"I know, Doc," Vince said. "This arrived here late."

"What is it?" he asked distractedly. "I'm in the middle of something here."

"I realize that but, apparently, something important has come in from Gotham U. for you," Vince explained.

"Gotham U.?" Everhardt straightened up, stretching his back. "Is it related to this latest find? The Druid box and the parchment scroll?"

"Ah, I don't know. The delivery guy's still here. He might be able to clear that up for you. Said he needed a signature and, well, seeing as how you're still here." Vince waved Gary into the room. "I hope this isn't a problem."

Everhardt looked at the box in Gary's hands expectantly. "No, that's alright," he told the guard. "What do we have here?"

Gary handed the container over to Everhardt but his attention was on the iron Druid box as he did so. This was what he had come for. "You said something about a Druid box?" Gary asked curiously. "Is that what this is?"

Everhardt set the new container on a shelf and walked over to the table where the iron box was displayed. "Yes, I've never seen anything quite like it. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to have a key but there is plenty to study before we worry about opening it. Are you familiar with the ancient Druids?"

Gary smiled tightly. "Oh yes," he said. "Uncomfortably so even."

"Really? Would you care to have a look?" Everhardt offered magnanimously.

"Uh, Doc, I need to escort him back before I can finish my rounds," Vince reminded him.

Everhardt waved a hand at Vince. "That's fine. I can escort him out when we're done here."

"But . . ." Vince looked uneasy with that.

"It's okay, really," Everhardt told him. "I take full responsibility. This find is extraordinary. Very unusual and quite rare. I would love to have a second opinion."

Gary ducked his head modestly. "I'm still a graduate student, Doctor, although I graduate come May."

"Practically a colleague already," Everhardt said jovially, slapping Gary on the back. He turned the younger man in the direction of the iron box, dismissing the guard by his body language. "Take a look, I insist."

"Okay, Doc. You call *89 when you two are done and I'll meet you up front and unlock the door for you," Vince said, uncertain that this wasn't going to get him chewed out by his superior. The two men were already deep into their investigation, however, and Vince left under the impression that neither had heard a word he had said.

* * *

Gary waited until he could no longer distinguish Vince's footsteps before stepping over to the door and locking it. He moved back over to the table that held the parchment. That Druid chick, Rhiannon she had called herself, had warned of its importance before she had tried to decapitate him. There had still been flecks of blood on her weapon from Skip.

A shudder passed through him at the memory. He had barely managed to escape with his life. He had no idea what became of Melanie but he suspected it had been whatever had befallen Skip. The Druid woman had caught up to him at the airport. Had there not been other people present at the time . . . Security had intercepted her before she could reach him, however. How she had found him so quickly, he didn't know. Truthfully, he was _afraid_ to know. Enough so that he had run from her at his first opportunity and, when he was sufficiently hidden from view, Gary had shoved the box and the parchment into one of the crates bound for the university.

He hadn't escaped unscathed, however. She had left her mark on him. Gary touched the stitches carefully. The wound was still tender. He had taken a direct flight back to Gotham from Wales the second he left the emergency room, determined to catch up to that damned box and claim whatever it contained. His friends had died for it. Gary had paid with his blood, sweat, and tears and, in his opinion, that gave him a right to it. He _deserved_ whatever fortune it held.

"I need you to open the box now, Dr. Everhardt," Gary told him as he plucked the parchment from its place on the man's desk.

Everhardt frowned at him. "Be careful with that. We don't know how old the scroll is yet."

"It's more than two thousand years old," Gary said authoritatively.

The older man blinked. "You couldn't possibly know that in the time you've been here. Even the box's age is questionable because the leather straps are clearly from a different era . . ."

"I just KNOW," Gary roared, dragging a knife out from under his clothes. "You see, I'm the one who dug it up out of the ground from under a fucking Druid altar. And then some fucking crazy chick, claiming to be a Druid priestess, tried to kill me for it!"

Seeing the knife, Everhardt suddenly realized the danger he was in. He glanced at the door but the clearly unstable, younger man purposely blocked his path.

"Forget it, Doc. It's locked." Gary tossed the linguist the scrap of parchment. "Translate that," he demanded, grabbing the box and slamming the lock with the hilt of his knife.

Everhardt caught scrap and spread it out, but protested the violence of Gary's actions. "Stop! You're damaging a potentially valuable piece of history!"

The younger man snarled at him, waving the knife in his direction. "Unless you are reading what came from that scroll, shut the fuck up!"

Worried finally about the weapon, Everhardt turned back to the magnifying glass. He turned his notepad to a fresh sheet of paper and returned his concentration to the faded black ink on the parchment paper in front of him.

The linguist took in the next several symbols, interpreting them individually and then considered how they might relate to one another. He worked feverously, pausing with a wince every time Gary would slam something against the box's lock in an attempt to force the lid to open.

"Damn it," Gary snarled angrily. "Where the hell is the key?"

Everhardt glanced over at him. "The key was destroyed," he said.

"What? How do you know that?" The younger man glared at him.

"I-I had just interpreted a line of text to mean just that. That once the box had been sealed and locked, the Angle Druids carried the key with them back to their land and basically destroyed it by melting the iron and adding it to other items the blacksmiths of their time were creating."

Gary frowned confused. "Why the hell would they do that?"

Everhardt shrugged. "The better part of the scroll reads like a bad horror movie. It talks of gods warring and Druid warriors being forced to fight an army of . . ." he sighed. "One symbol stood for birds, another for warriors, but then it had a raven. It could have meant that the warriors battled an army of birds to the death or . . ."

"Or . . . What else?"

"The symbols following the raven doesn't make a lot of sense. 'Not-death' is the closest thing I can come up with." He shook his head. "But that would be ridiculous, wouldn't it? ' _Dead_ / _not-dead_ ' . . . I mean, are they talking about zombies? There are no such things as zombies. And the question of the bird symbol remains."

"Zombie-birds?" Gary snorted derisively.

"Hey!" Everhardt snapped. "I didn't write this. I'm only interpreting it and, I'll have you know, I'm one of the best in the business."

"Fine. Just finish with what I gave you," he growled. He moved to the door and peered out of the glass panel into the darkened hall beyond.

"S-Some of these symbols I am unfamiliar with but this one obviously refers to the iron box and this one could be interpreted as 'open' although generally it is used for 'freedom'," Everhardt murmured under his breath.

It was quiet for the next several minutes as Everhardt worked. The only break in the silence was the occasional murmuring the linguist made when he came to something curious or confusing. Just when Gary was losing his patience, did the professor set his pencil down. He swiveled on his stool and pick up the pad.

"I don't believe this is what you think it is," Everhardt muttered after a time. "This doesn't mention the box as holding any kind of token. It claims the box is a prison for an ancient power."

"What kind of power?" Gary asked. _Power could be good. Would have preferred it to have been gold, but power would work just as well for me_.

"It doesn't say but wouldn't a 'prison' denote that it was a bad thing?" Everhardt reasoned. "At any rate, as best I can tell, the rest of it says: 'Life's blood spilt upon the lock through means most . . .' and here is where it grows strange. The last word is 'bird'." Everhardt read to him.

" _Bird_? That makes no sense, Doc," Gary complained. "Are you shitting me? You best not be messing with me!"

"Look for yourself or did you lie when you said you were knowledgeable about ancient Druids?" Everhardt tossed the notepad at him.

"Don't be messing with me," Gary repeated angrily as he caught the pad in one hand. He threw it back, hitting the linguist in the chest before it fell to the floor, its pages fluttered violently.

Everhardt threw his hands up in frustration. "I suppose it could be some sort of riddle but I need time to research it."

"You are out of time," Gary snapped.

A tap at the window made both men jump. Everhardt looked over to see a reflection of his office light on some small shape immediately outside. He walked over just as the shape tapped again at the pane.

"It's some sort of bird," Everhardt deduced, surprised. As he neared the window, the bird tapped a third time, rather hard, in fact. "I think it is a crow or maybe a raven? It doesn't appear to be afraid of me in the least. How odd it that?"

Gary stormed over to the window, shoving Everhardt to the side and banged on the window. The bird flapped it wings in response but didn't fly away as expected.

"What the hell? What are you doing?"

Gary waved a hand in the direction of the bird. "There were ravens at the site. They weren't afraid of people either."

"Site? What are you talking about? Where you found the box?" Everhardt frowned. "You think that raven is linked somehow to the iron box," he concluded. "Are you suggesting that this particular bird flew all the way here from Wales? Must be some kind of coincidence."

"Or magic?" Gary scowled. "Magic would make sense of all of this."

Everhardt scoffed. "Magic is for the weak-minded. I'm sure our Druid friends that built the box believed in magic but this is the twenty-first century, man."

"Guess you never heard of Zatara or Dr. Fate," Gary snapped at him.

Everhardt's eyebrow rose at the mention of the Justice League members. "I'm quite certain that what they do is not _magic_. It could be some type of alien technology that simply makes what they do seem magical to us."

Gary laughed harshly. "You believe in aliens but not magic."

"It is hard to refute the Martian Manhunter or Superman," he admitted. "But even our everyday technology would seem magical to the ancient Druids, although we understand quite well the science behind it."

"I didn't believe in magic at first," Gary told him in all seriousness, "but I was there. I saw that Druid priestess step out of nothing. She could travel distances seemingly at will. And then there were the ravens." Gary slapped his hand against the window again but still the raven remained on the sill. He flipped the lock.

"What are you doing?" Everhardt asked. He glanced back at the door, wondering if he could get through it before Gary could reach him. The man was obviously demented.

"I'm going to kill it," Gary growled.

He shoved the window open and reached for the bird. The raven flapped as it moved out of Gary's reach but instead of escaping, it entered the small room on its own. The office seemed too claustrophobic for the large bird to maneuver easily. It made one circuit around the perimeter before the bird settled on top of the iron box.

"You see?" Gary pointed. "How can you possibly explain _that_?"

Everhardt frowned at the bird's odd behavior. "I just had a thought," he said as he stepped carefully to one side. "What if the word 'bird' actually meant 'fowl'?

"Fowl? I'm not following you," Gary stared at him.

"'Life's blood spilt upon the lock through means most fowl.'," Everhardt quoted.

"Fowl . . . as in bird rather than foul as in heinous?"

"Think about it? Maybe the instructions meant the life's blood of a bird," Everhardt crowed.

"How would the locking mechanism know the difference if this isn't magic?" Gary murmured, stepping up to the iron box slowly so as not to alarm the raven. "That certainly sounded like some kind of spell."

"Of course, it would. These people were primitive. They certainly believed in the magic they invoked for their rituals," Everhardt argued.

In a move that surprised the professor, Gary snatched the raven from its perch by its neck. The bird flapped and pecked once at his hand but otherwise didn't protest. The younger man plunged his knife into the body of the raven and held it up.

"Grab the box," he ordered.

Fascinated, despite himself, Everhardt did as directed, tilting the iron box so that the blood dripping from the feathered corpse fell onto and inside of the lock. They watched and waited as the blood streamed. Eventually it was more than the lock could contain and it ran over the metal until it, too, was dribbling blood onto the table and the floor of the office.

"It's not doing anything," Everhardt complained. "Of course, it couldn't possibly work." But almost before he finished speaking, there was a loud click and the sound of gears working. The lid parted. "My God," he exclaimed in surprise. "It actually worked? I can't believe it!"

He set the box upright as Gary tossed the dead bird on the floor. As the younger man lifted the lid, he exulted. Finally, _finally_ , he would have the token, be it of luck or power, and his life would improve. The nightmare would be worth it!

He reached inside with both hands, heedless of the blood that still coated them, and pulled out his prize. The two men gazed quizzically at, not the gold-plated, jewel-encrusted statue as they had expected, but a rock. A large geode to be exact.

"What the hell is this?" Gary asked, his temper rising. "How is this worth anything?"

Shots suddenly rang out, echoing in the hall beyond the door, a scream followed. The men glanced at one another and Gary backed up, fear in his eyes. He slipped in the blood and fell back, the geode flying from his grip. Everhardt, recognizing his chance, ran toward the door to escape.

* * *

" _NO_! Don't open that door," Gary screamed. It was _her_! _She_ had followed him here.

The rounded rock hit the floor of the office and a mighty crack sounded, far greater than one would expect of such an event, just as the door was kicked open. The woman strode quickly into the room, her dark eyes finding the opened box immediately. Fury engulfed her.

"You fools," she snarled. "What have you done?"

Everhardt stepped over to her. "Quickly, we must run. The man is mad!"

Without sparing a glance at the professor, the dark-eyed woman, in one smooth move, slid her dagger home into his abdomen. Her gaze fell upon the geode and she gasped in horror.

" _No_! It is done," she whispered. "You have killed us all."

Everhardt fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. His blood spilt out, joining that of the bird's. He grabbed at her robe, but she pulled free as she reached for the geode.

"Maybe there is still time," she said, more to herself than to the two men but her hands pulled back before she could touch it. "No . . ." she moaned in despair.

Gary stared at her in terror. Only now did he glance down at the geode that lay between his feet . . . next to the corpse of the raven he had killed. A quiet voice in the back of his head asked what would make this woman flinch and hesitate? And then he saw it.

Something thick and black oozed from the tiny crack in rough stone's surface. It puddled and mixed with the blood on the floor and seeped under the black bird's body. The next second, the bird twitched.

"What the hell?" Gary scrambled back, alarmed, even as the Druid priestess backed away herself.

"I must find help," she gasped, shaking her head. "But who could possibly stop her now?"

Turning, the woman drew symbols in the air with one hand. Glowing blue characters seemed to hover for a few seconds and then a doorway appeared in the middle of the office. Without a backward glance, she dove through the glowing portal and it slammed shut behind her. No trace remained. It had disappeared as if it had never existed.

The raven was twitching, its wings flapping wildly as it struggled to its feet. Suddenly, Gary was more afraid of the raven than he had ever been of the cloaked woman. He slid into the corner between the bookshelves and the desk, trying to hide from whatever was happening.

"Come back," he yelled into the ether. "Don't leave me here!" There was no answer.

Everhardt groaned and struggled to push himself up but what he saw was more frightening than the blood that pooled beneath him.

"W-What _is_ that," he gasped and stared. "Dear God . . ."

The raven was on its feet now. It flapped and moved in ways that the mind had trouble comprehending. The bird seemed to grow and stretch impossibly. It's feet and legs thickened as its feathers flowed and molded itself around its new body. The grotesque sounds of flapping and that of bones and joints snapping and crackling filled the room. Its beak shortened, the point lost as the feathers gave way to skin and then from that to a face.

She didn't look healthy or young. Her complexion was that of a corpse, gray; blue veins could even be seen under the wrinkled, translucent skin. She had no hair but a head full of glistening feathers. Most were a deep black but occasionally the light reflected off of some that were iridescent or another the exact color of drying blood. Her robes were blue/black in color and she wore bands of some dark metal. A *torc of red lay across her chest. Her nails were like blackened talons; her feet were bare.

And yet despite all of this, what made both men still with a sense of foreboding were her strange, golden eyes . . . like those of a bird. Worse, they had within them no pity, no mercy, no care for those mere mortals cowering at her feet. She did not notice them there. They were beneath her.

Without warning a pulse of energy flowed out from her body in all directions and then returned to her. The feathers on her head ruffling as if a wind had swept through. Her skin plumped as the wrinkles smoothed out and, although her visage became that of one young and beautiful, it retained its gray tone: the color of death.

The men might have marveled at the transformation had they still lived. All that remained, however, of Gary Middleston and Christian Everhardt were shriveled husks and empty eye sockets.

Without a word, The End of All walked away. As she passed, one dainty foot touched what was left of the unlucky linguist and his body crumpled, falling apart, until he was naught but a pile of gray dust on the floor.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **You'll never guess . . . unless you are Jam2014 with whom I conferred with while plotting. ;D**

 ***A torc, btw, is like a necklace or band that went around or hung from the neck as decoration or to denote rank (or a title).**


	3. Phenomenon

**Warning: Language, Disturbing Content, and Death Imagery . . .**

* * *

Phoebe and Gavin stood to collect their coats as the credits ran in the movie theater. They never bothered to sit through the credits although most movies tended to have some little bonus scene tucked at the end. The lights were raised halfway, providing just enough light for people to exit easily.

It was date night. They always looked forward to having dedicated time to be together, just the two of them. Since the baby came along, finding time to do more than kiss the other goodbye had become a chore. Marriage became a little harder when children entered the scene, especially when this one made number two, but the rewards made it worth all the effort. Their six-year-old son, Thaddeus, would be starting first grade next fall and would bring with it all sorts of new challenges. His little brother, Hudson, was only just settling down from months of colic. Phoebe could finally get a whole night's sleep.

Gavin's key's fell out of the pocket of his jacket. He handed her the garment as he bent to retrieve them.

"Damn it," he muttered. "Hang on."

Phoebe already had her coat on and was adjusting her bag on her shoulder so she didn't notice anything at first. Then she realized that Gavin wasn't moving. She frowned.

"Honey, let's go. The sitter's waiting," she encouraged him. "What's the problem?"

When Gavin still failed to move, didn't even acknowledge her, Phoebe laid her hand on his back to get his attention.

"Gavin . . .?"

Phoebe's breathe caught in her throat as her hand abruptly dipped _into_ his body and then he was crumbling . . . falling apart right before her eyes; his body turning to a super-fine, ash-like material. She screamed . . . and screamed again. The sound wouldn't stop although her world seemed to do just that. People in the aisle behind and in front of her stood up to see what had happened only to discover that those people who had been sitting next to them had suffered the same fate. Gasps, yells, and yet more screams filled the theater. Lights were slow in turning on but when they did, it was to a scene from a horror movie.

Half of the theater had been changed to shriveled statues only resembling their previous appearances in the vaguest way . . . until, that is, someone touched them, and then the bodies of their friends and loved ones collapsed, crumbling into piles of gray dust. Nothing left at all except the clothes that they had worn. Half of the theater . . . like a straight line down the middle.

Perhaps if Phoebe hadn't been caught up in her own trauma, she might have heard the muted sounds of other people screaming through the walls of the theater, out in the streets. While some sat or stood, weeping at their loss, others were running in a panic, climbing over seats and, in some cases, over other people in their bid to escape what had become a tomb. As the last of Gavin slipped away, Phoebe thought, a little hysterically, that an urn would have made a better analogy. A flash of metal caught her eye then and Phoebe saw the keys to their car lying on the floor a few inches from Gavin's shoes. They were half-buried in gray dust. She reached down and plucked them off of the floor.

 _My babies_! Oh, d _ear God, are the children alright_? _Had they_ . . .?

The sudden, overwhelming need to hold them both fell upon her and she spun on her heel, dropping Gavin's coat onto the dusty, sticky, theater floor as she, too, ran; desperation making her as rude and as inconsiderate as all of the other fear-stricken patrons.

* * *

The alarm at Bludhaven's Museum of Natural History was going off Nightwing noted as he adjusted his direction. He had been by there a couple of nights ago, and realized that he was close now. Nightwing tapped his communicator in his ear. He was on the police frequency. They were sending a patrol car but they were ten minutes out.

Ten minutes? Dick knew he could get clear across town in twenty if he hustled. What could possibly take them so long to respond? Whoever was breaking in could be in and out before the police showed up.

Nightwing landed on the roof of the office building across from the museum and paused. It was incredibly quiet, unusually so. He could see that the glass entrance had been shattered from here. No wonder the alarm had gone off. The thieves obviously weren't worried about being interrupted, so it makes sense the they were there for one thing in particular. He swung down and looked into the interior.

Deathly quiet . . .

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. As he stepped through the hole left behind, Dick stopped abruptly. Glancing down he suddenly realized that the glass wasn't on the inside of building but all over the sidewalk _outside_. The break-in was, in fact, actually a _break-out_!

He straightened, certain that whoever set off the alarm was no longer present. That didn't stop the eerie feeling that continued to walk up and down his spine, however. He pulled out his penlight, moving into the museum as he followed the path of destruction. A fight had taken place at some point . . . He discovered a bullet hole in the wall next to display of a valuable collection of jewelry donated by Astacia Hope, heiress to the Boston Hope fortune.

The mystery continued. The thieves leave behind millions of dollars in jewels to continue further into the museum? If they left through the front door, however, how the hell had they entered. Dick couldn't help but wonder what Batman would make of this and immediately regretted that line of thought. As he was banned from the Batcave and the manor, the likelihood that he would be able to talk about a case with Bruce again was reaching into the negative numbers.

He shook off his depression. It had no place in an investigation. A figure caught his eye. One of the security guards lay on the floor against the wall. Nightwing quickly knelt by his side. He nearly gasped in shock at the man's condition. He could tell the man was already dead from the gray color but the body was shriveled as if someone had sucked all of the water . . . or the life out of him. Despite this Dick reached out a hand to touch the shoulder of the guard. His fingers had barely brushed the surface of his uniform when the shoulder seemed to collapse. It didn't stop, however, and Nightwing stood up abruptly as the entire body fell apart. Nothing was left but his uniform and a pile of fine dust. It reminded him of ash but there were no indications of a fire or even excess heat damage to the guard's surroundings or his uniform.

More than a little disturbed by this, Nightwing continued on but on the alert in case, despite the broken door, the murderer remained within the museum. A dozen paces beyond the first guard was the body of the second. He, too, was gray and shriveled and this time, Nightwing knew to avoid touching the body.

He played the light over what he found. Indications of blood were left but it was dried as if the man had died long ago rather than in the past hour. His head lay at a particular angle and the slice in his uniform said he was dead before whatever shriveled him had occurred.

So, he was looking for two murderers or one who absorbed something from the body after he killed the person?

His hand twitched with the need to change the channel of his communicator to the frequency that Batman used. He had never seen anything like this and to say that it wasn't freaking him out a bit would have been a lie. Dick briefly considered calling the Justice League but that would just prove to Bruce he couldn't cut it on his own. Although the Titans would help him without it getting back to Bruce, he preferred to do this on his own.

Besides, investigating and searching for clues was his expertise within the Titans. The others wouldn't be much help until he figured this out anyway. Dick would continue his search and draw his conclusions before he decided whether or not he would need to call in the cavalry. Nightwing made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. His first actual mystery in his new identity and he was already considering begging for help. No, Dick was sure he could solve this. He only needed to concentrate and do the legwork.

Nightwing tugged a tiny spycam from a compartment hidden in his boot. He took pictures of both guards and took a sample of the dust from the first for later analysis. He thought he had a few favors he could call in at Star Labs. One of their techs wouldn't mind running some labs on the dust for him. He already had the identity of the guards from their uniforms. What he needed was some clue as to what weaponry the bad guy used to do this to them and for what purpose?

He moved down the back hall. A light was spilling from an open door at the end of the corridor. Pausing at the door, Nightwing peered inside. There was no one in here left alive. He entered to find another pile of dust in a lab coat. His museum ID identified him as Dr. Christian Everhardt. Nightwing took another sample and tucked it away for further analysis later. And examination of his clothes revealed a stab wound to his gut. Was he dead when he had been sucked of his . . . Again, his mind balked at the idea that someone stole these men's souls or something.

He noted the metal box and a large geode the approximate shape of a bowling ball. Its surface was far from smooth, however. It was cracked and a glimpse of some black material remained on its surface. Curiously, a black feather and prints of a bird was mixed in the dried patches of blood. Next to it was one footprint. It was dainty, belonging to a woman? She had been barefoot or at least once foot had been. Dick took his samples, including the feather, and pictures of everything as he had found it, including the footprint. He picked up the geode and, being careful to not touch the black substance, he placed it into the box. Although he had no hard evidence that said the rock had come out of the box, he felt positive that it had. It fit perfectly, almost as if the box had been made to hold the stone.

He rubbed a gloved finger along the curved surface of the iron box. It had symbols he didn't recognize as a language all over it, every surface. Strangely, when he closed the lid, he noticed flecks of dried blood in and around the lock. He looked but didn't see a key anywhere, but he did see a parchment under a magnifying glass. The light was still on as if someone had been studying it just moments ago. The symbols scratched on the scroll matched many of those on the box. The two had come here together, he decided.

He realized he was tampering with a scene of a murder but he planned to solve this. Dick wasn't sure how the murders had happened yet but it was far from typical. He knew without a doubt that the police wouldn't be able to do much with it. It was arrogant to think he could do much better but Dick had a plan.

Star Labs had a place in Metropolis. He would take the box with its geode and the scroll to the scientists there along with those other samples he had collected there as well. Surely, someone there would be able to make sense of this.

His foot kicked the edge of a notebook on the floor. It was filled with longhand scrawling along it pages. He found a symbol here and there with a written explanation beside it. He slid it inside the box along with the scroll. He turned around again searching out anything he might have missed. He saw the open window but it wasn't large enough for a person to climb through. He was looking out the window when something caught his attention in his peripheral vision. That was when he saw _him_.

 _Another body_. This one was pressed against the wall, wedged between the cabinet and the desk. He was hiding and he had been terrified when he had died. His features, though distorted, were easily read. There was a knife near his hand. Maybe it had the man's prints on it. He didn't want to disturb the body in an effort to locate his ID, so he collected the weapon as well.

Had the victim been trying to protect himself? If so, from what? Even the shriveled surface of his face, Nightwing could make out a large scar that stretched from temple to chin. Was it old? Recent? Fresh from a fight he had tonight?

Satisfied, Nightwing picked up the box. He'd take it back to his apartment and then drive it over to Star Labs tomorrow. With that in mind, Nightwing stepped back through the broken door the same way he had entered.

He frowned as he looked up and down the street in front of the entrance to the museum.

 _Where are the cops_? he thought to himself. He checked his chronometer and realized he had been inside for twelve minutes. Even Bludhaven's cops should have been here by now. No one is _that_ inefficient, even if they _are_ dirty. Curious as to what was taking precedence over a break-in at the museum, Nightwing turned on his communicator to hear the chatter over the police band, and immediately caught something about a disturbance happening a few blocks from where he was.

As it was only slightly out of his way, he decided to check it out on his way back to his apartment to stow the box. The police might need a little extra help and, with a little luck, they might not even shoot him on sight.

* * *

Harry Calvert called for backup.

 _What the hell was going on_? People were running in every direction, screaming. Panic ensued. He had thought when he and his partner, Jimmy Li, pulled up that there was a riot or maybe a terrorist threat, a bomb . . . something! But on first and even second glance, there was no rhyme nor reason to what they saw.

When the woman fell nearby, Jimmy leaped to help her up. Maybe now they would learn the nature of the emergency.

"Ma'am! Ma'am," Jimmy had been forced to shake her to gain her attention. She appeared to be in shock. A strange gray dust coated her hands and clothes. "What is happening? Where is the danger?"

"No! No, let me go," she screamed at him, fighting his hold on her. "I have to get home. I have to see my babies!"

"Please, ma'am," Jimmy attempted again, "talk to us! Tell us what happened."

"M-My h-husband . . . Gavin!" Fear warred with grief in her eyes. "He . . . He's gone!"

"Gone?" Calvert asked her. "You mean you lost him in the panic?"

She was shaking her head in short, violent movements. "No. No, he was there and then . . . he was just . . . just gone!"

Calvert exchanged confused glances. "Ma'am, please, help us here. We don't understand what you mean by your husband being 'gone'."

"She means like the people were there one minute and then suddenly you're looking and they're all shriveling up. Even their eyes, man!" A twenty-something, young, black man stopped to tell them. He held his hands up in front of his face for emphasis, making claws with his fingers.

Calvert's eyes widened in surprise. The thug was wearing gang colors and was obviously up to no good in this neighborhood. He was likely here to mug a few people but he was just as terrified of whatever had happened to this woman's husband as she was.

"And if you touch them . . ." he said in terror.

"Your hand just goes through them and then they . . . He . . . just . . ." she added next.

"Fall apart! Crumble into dust and fall right through your fingers," the man finished. He held his hands up to show them but seemed to freak out when he saw how much of that gray dust was all over him. "Gah! Shit! Get it off," he screeched. "I got to get it off!"

He turned and fled, and the woman began to struggled once more.

"Where? Where did this happen?" Jimmy yelled at her as he tried to keep her attention.

She pointed behind her. "The movie theater. Half of them were just . . . gone. Please, I have to see my babies! I have to know if they're alright."

Letting her run through the streets in this state, some were in cars and speeding by two and three times the speed limit, would be dangerous.

"Calm down. Where's your phone. Have you tried calling?" Jimmy tried to reason with her.

The woman glanced down, suddenly realizing that she was missing her purse and thus her phone. All she had in her hand was a set of dusty car keys. "I-I don't . . ." she stammered.

"Jimmy, your confusing her now. She's in shock but so are a bunch of other people. We _need_ to find out what caused this." Calvert told him. He was already looking in the direction that he suspected the trouble began. Dozens of people were running away from that area while others were kneeling on the pavement nearby weeping over piles of . . . _Dear God, were those clothes_?

Calvert unhooked his firearm and called dispatch as he moved towards the source of the dangerous phenomenon. They needed backup!

"Yeah, I know I already called for backup but you need to send me more. We're going to need more of everything," he said into the radio on his shoulder. "I don't know what the hell is going on, just get here!"

* * *

Nightwing slowed as he caught sight of a car crash up ahead. One of the cars was a patrol car, its lights still flashing. He wondered where the ambulance and other cops were. The patrol car was heading in the direction of the museum making it obvious that the accident had occurred in route to the alarm.

He frowned. No one was moving below . . . no crowds of curious people. No traffic was moving. He swung down. The disturbance would have to wait as he checked to see if anyone needed assistance. He sat the box in the shadow of a dumpster so that no one would bother it while he helped those still stuck in their vehicles.

Nightwing stopped at the first vehicle he came to. The airbags had deployed he could see as he approached but no one was in the car. He looked in the window and saw a pile of clothes in both the driver's and the passenger's seats . . . as well as a pile of gray dust.

His chest clenched. Just like the ones at the museum! Had whoever or whatever killed the people in the museum killed these people as well? There was no other rational explanation but nothing about this case was rational. He glanced through the back window and groaned. A child's carseat sat empty but for a scrap of cloth and a scattering of the fine, powdery substance.

He ran over to the police car only to find the same result. Five more people! And for what reason? Dick stepped back and looked at the pavement. No skid marks from the drivers slamming on the brakes before the collision leading him to believe that this . . . thing had killed them first and the crash was a direct result of the two cars having no drivers. The collision and the airbags did their part to shatter the delicate statues the passengers must have become on impact.

Nightwing's hand slid up to the communicator in his ear and hovered there. Should he call Batman? He might try for Batgirl but he didn't want her involved with this. Would Batman bring that new Robin with him if he could convince him to come? Dick swallowed. The way their last meeting ended, he kind of doubted Bruce would bother making an appearance in Bludhaven if the threat didn't concern Gotham City directly.

He moved back to the sidewalk and only then did he notice the woman curled up next to a building's entrance. Dick bit his lip nervously as he moved closer.

"Ma'am?" His voice cracked slightly. He cleared it. "Ma'am, are you alright?"

The light was dim here but he could see that she was shriveled like the others. He had been about to touch her shoulder but pulled back abruptly, not wanting to cause her to crumble away to nothing as well. He glanced through the glass door into the building's lobby only to see another person standing at the front desk and a security guard sitting behind it. They were gray and shriveled, too, but somehow managed to remain upright despite the delicacy of their dead bodies.

Nightwing backed away. His eyes were wide behind the mask and his breathing was short, panicked. It wasn't just the people on the street, he realized. Whatever force had done this had penetrated brick and stone, concrete and steel in order to drain the lives of everyone nearby. He looked up at the apartment buildings and the occasional small business and wondered if there were anyone left alive on this block? He resisted the urge to run through the buildings and check.

How had he missed being hit with it himself? Was there an outer range to it? Had he merely been lucky enough to be outside of that range when this had happened? The idea that there was a range to this thing relieved him. For just a moment, Dick had begun to feel as though maybe he was the last person alive on the face of the earth. The idea terrified him.

Nightwing touched his communicator but not to contact Batman. No matter what their relationship was like, Dick didn't want Bruce here, with this . . . this thing, whatever it was. Not until he knew what he was dealing with and if he figure out a way to stop it. He was considering contacting Superman when the dispatcher's voice cut through his thoughts, reminding him of the disturbance he had been heading to. It had gotten much larger in the time he had been occupied. Several cars were heading to it along with calls for various other emergency personnel.

He raced to retrieve the box from its hiding place and then shot a line with his grapple gun. Nightwing preferred the perceived safety of the rooftops, even if it were only imaginary. He took off towards the disturbance as a run, leaping the alleyways with little effort. The wind felt good on his face. He had been getting a little nauseous during his discovery but then he frowned, tasting dust on his tongue.

 _Oh God_! Dick gasped and then choked. _No_!

He stumbled to a halt, dropping the iron box. It tumbled across the roof's asphalt surface. Dick crawled to a corner and threw up. Chinese didn't taste nearly as good the second time around. He wiped his mouth. Picking up the box, he shoved all thoughts of what was blowing around in the air from his mind. He pulled his nasal filters from its compartment and inserted them. He would continue on but would keep his mouth closed with grim determination.

* * *

Jimmy looked at the woman. He needed to help his partner but he couldn't just leave this woman like this.

"It happened over there?" he asked for confirmation. When she nodded again, he said, "And which direction do you live in?"

She pointed a shaking hand behind him, back in the direction from which he and Calvert had just come.

"Okay, good. My partner and I just came from that way and everything was fine," Jimmy assured her. "I'm sure that your children are just fine. They are opposite from whatever happened. Nothing bad is going on that way." He waited until he got a nod to continue. "They need you to calm down so you can get to them safely. Can you do that for me?"

She blinked. "Y-Yes," she swallowed hard and nodded again. "Calm."

"I need your name," Jimmy let go of her to reach in his pocket for his notepad. "We may have questions for you later."

"Phoebe Nicholson," she answered obediently. She was shivering despite her coat. The Mid-March temperature were in the fifties, rather mild for Bludhaven this time of year but the night would be getting colder.

"Okay, Phoebe. You head home but be careful. And once you see them, get someone, a family member or friend to drive you to the local emergency room to get checked out, okay?" Jimmy instructed her slowly.

He went one better, though, and wrote his instructions down for her. She likely was in shock and her ability to follow orders were sketchy at best but he didn't think she would sit and wait to get checked out when the ambulance arrived. He handed her the slip of paper and waited until she clutched it tightly in her hand. It was the best he could do. Too many people still needed his help.

Jimmy turned and followed Calvert, trotting to catch up. He held his hand on top of his weapon, just in case, as he moved. The people were beginning to thin out enough that he was able to catch a glimpse of Calvert moving from one lump of dust and cloth to another.

 _Odd_ , he thought. _All of the affected people had been on one side of the street_. The theater sat at the end of the block right in the center where this street ended at the larger avenue He watched as Calvert suddenly move around the edge of the block, heading down the avenue toward his right. Jimmy picked up his pace. His partner had obviously found something suspicious.

"Li, I need you!"

Calvert's voice crackled over his radio and Jimmy broke into a run. He was rounding the corner when he saw Calvert confronting a woman. He blinked. Was she some kind of Indian? She wore a feathered headdress from the look of it. As he drew closer, Jimmy saw that she had skin that was that pale gray color of the victims, yet _she_ wasn't shriveled nor was she _dead_!

She was taller than the average female, though not by much, maybe 5'8" height. Her dress looked almost homespun but the material, a deep black that shone blue as it caught the light, was the kind of quality that Jimmy had never seen before. The skirt ended at her bare ankles and flowed around her lower legs as if the wind were blowing it, except . . . there was no wind at the moment. She wore armbands of some kind of shiny black metal and a blood-red necklace of some sort.

As he neared, Jimmy noted that the feathers in her hair wasn't a headdress at all but seemed to replace her hair altogether. Feathers for hair . . . he marveled until she turned her face just so. Strangely, exotically beautiful but with golden, alien eyes. Foreign, he thought, and cold. She didn't seem to acknowledge Calvert at all as she took in the buildings and lights of the cinema's marquee. She tilted and turned her head in short, sharp, jerking motions, almost like a bird might. It was unnerving.

"I asked you a question," Calvert was saying to her, his voice rising with frustration but obviously temper as well.

 _How long had he been trying to talk to her_? _Was she on drugs_ , he wondered.

Just then, Calvert reached out grabbed the woman's forearm, his other hand on his weapon as she moved to walk past him. Calvert's face shifted from angry to surprised and then to terror as he froze.

 _What_? _What's wrong_? Jimmy yanked his own weapon out of its holster, and pointed it at the woman. She didn't appear to be doing anything at all. She had halted when Calvert had touched her but her attention was elsewhere. _Perhaps she is mentally challenged_?

And then he saw it.

Calvert's hand had turned gray as had his entire forearm . . . and it was spreading even as Jimmy watched. Calvert's body seemed to shrink and his face to wrinkle as he shriveled. It was just as the woman and the thug had said.

"Stop what you are doing, right now," Jimmy screamed. "Stop it! Stop, or I swear I will shoot you!"

But it was too late. Within twenty seconds Calvert's entire body had seemed to dry up. Even his eyes were like raisons, hanging slightly in their sockets. Terror unlike any other struck Jimmy as the woman started walking again and, where Calvert had been holding onto her began disintegrating. First his hand and forearm and then, only seconds later, just his uniform remained and whatever was left of his partner was left to swirl around the woman's ankles.

He grabbed his radio. "I need help! Officer down! Shots fired," he screamed even as he began doing exactly that, firing at the woman as rapidly as he could.

He released the radio and held his firearm with both hands and adjusted his stance, but the woman walked on, unconcerned . . . as if the bullets went unnoticed. A large, black bird flew down in front of him, its wings brushing by his face. It was joined by another and then another. Confused and with growing fear, Jimmy waved the creatures away and glanced back at the woman. Her head turned towards him and her eyes, just for a moment met his. With a jolt, Jimmy felt warmth sweep down his legs as he lost bladder control. He threw his gun at one of the birds and ran for the safety of the patrol car. Bullets did nothing to her anyway. His gun was useless.

When two patrol cars pulled up next to his a few minutes later, they found Jimmy curled up in the backseat, unresponsive, stinking of fear and urine. The woman, that thing, that had reduced him to the shivering mess was investigating a coffee shop across the street. No one else was around; the street completely deserted.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? So, what do you think?**

 **What is Dick getting himself into? How can this possibly end well? Stick around and find out . . . :O**


	4. The Blessing

**Warnings: Language and Disturbing Images . . .**

* * *

The sounds of beating wings and birds screeching filled the night air as Nightwing landed on the roof of the building that neared the intersection. He set the box down in a secure location and peered over the ledge and straight into chaos. _Birds_! _Hundreds_ of them . . . big and black, and out late. According to his chronometer, it was nearing midnight.

They were circling like a tornado in the middle of the street. Every few seconds, Nightwing would catch a glimpse of the action going on at the center of this feathered vortex. Flashing red and blue lights of at least two cruisers were parked nearby. Inside the whirlpool, several officers were shooting at the black birds in self-defense but there were too many for them to handle.

A bullet ricocheted off of the ledge near his foot and Nightwing stepped back.

How the hell could he help them? He checked his utility compartments and pulled out several smoke pellets. Perhaps this would confuse and disorient the birds enough to scatter them and allow the police to escape and take shelter in their vehicles. He was preparing to throw them from the safety of his perch rather than get closer and possibly take a stray bullet when he spotted _her_.

There was a brief parting amongst the birds but it was enough that Dick could see there was a woman in the midst of the wild animal assault as well. It had appeared as though several birds had latched onto her back, probably caught in her hair. That she hadn't been hit by a stray bullet yet was miraculous but it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened.

His first duty was to protect the civilian . . . He would have to help the police while on the fly and hope that someone was looking out for him upstairs. He shot a line to the antennae across the street, atop the building opposite his, and leapt into the fray.

As he neared the swirling conflagration, Nightwing flung a handful of pellets and smoke billowed out even as he was struck by several birds. They were large enough that their weight and speed ensured he would be black and blue tomorrow morning even without his uniform on. A beak or a talon, he couldn't see well enough to tell, struck him across his left cheekbone, just below his eye, as well as across his arm and chest and thigh along one side. He couldn't tell how well his new uniform protected him but he had felt every impact.

"Hang on," Nightwing yelled out just as his arm wrapped around the woman's waist and they lifted high into the air. She stiffened but didn't fight him for which he was grateful.

A powerful burning sensation tore across his side as a bullet grazed his rib cage but he refused to let go of either his grapple gun or the woman. Should he do so, she would surely be injured if not killed outright. Instead, Nightwing lifted his legs on the upswing and hit the recoil switch on his grapple, letting the gun do the work. It lifted them higher than Dick could manage alone through the sudden onslaught of pain and against the drag of the woman's skirts and the extra weight of another person.

He let go of her as soon as they cleared the edge of the roofline, even as one of his legs collapsed out from under him, sending Nightwing tumbling across the tar and gravel rooftop. His suit did a lot to save him from major road rash as he skidded to a halt but Dick knew he would still be picking gravel out of his right side at the end of the night. He struggled back onto his feet in case the birds followed them.

"Are you alright?" he asked the woman as he hunched over a moment to regain his breath. "Are you hurt?"

She didn't answer him although, at a glance, she seemed to be alright. His body had protected her from the impact of the birds . . . Dick decided they were ravens. _Too big to be crows_ , he thought, and there was a good chance that this would excuse Scarecrow from being behind this nightmare, not that the Master of Fear stepped foot outside of Gotham.

Nightwing limped over to the edge of the roof to check out his handiwork and make certain the cops were safe. The swarm of ravens suddenly swooped up the side of the building, nearly knocking him over. He stumbled back from the edge and prepared to defend the woman and himself.

"Run to the door," Nightwing yelled at the woman as he readied himself to take the brunt of the next attack. "I'll cover for you! Don't worry." He limped in her direction. "I won't let them hurt you."

His first thought was that she must be in shock because she neither answered him or followed his directions. And then he got his first good look at her . . .

 _She's no civilian_ , was his next thought.

Her skin resembled that of a corpse. The feathers he had believed were ravens replaced hair and she was staring at him with eerie golden eyes. He was close enough now to see that the whites were a jaundiced yellow and her irises were a deep gold color with double rings around them of orange and gray. She tilted her head as she studied him with bird-like movements that was more than a little disturbing.

 _Is she the one that I'm looking for_? _Did she kill all those people_? But he knew the answers to those questions even as they formed in his mind.

The ravens were landing all over the rooftop, the antennae, and across the street and alleyways on the buildings, surrounding them. Their presence felt ominous, sinister, and the way they watched him creeped him out. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman controlled the birds and he suspected strongly that she was the being responsible for all the death this night . . . but _how_?

 _Birds didn't cause those people to shrivel and turn to dust_.

Fear began to slither through his veins and crawl up his spine. He was staring his own mortality in the face and he knew it. His adrenal glands just dumped a load into his blood system and it was taking everything in him to reject the fight or flight instinct and just stand still. When woman took a step in his direction, he couldn't help it, Dick flinched, taking a half a step back from her. He felt like she was looking at him through the lens of a microscope. As if she were searching his soul in order to determine whether or not he deserved to exist.

And then she spoke.

" **You . . .** ** _saved_** **me**?" she asked him, curiously.

Her words seemed to have a weight to them. Dick could actually _feel_ each of them brush over his skin like a physical presence. Her voice sounded like the roar of a mighty wind and he could hear within that wind multiple voices speaking to him all at once.

Behind his white lenses, Dick's eyes widened as he came to the terrifying realization that even her voice could kill him.

* * *

 _He is scared_ . . .

His fear didn't bother her. All feared her. As she watched, he licked his lips and gathered his courage. He was acting as if he were facing a dangerous animal. That he understood his mortality in this moment was good. It meant he was not stupid but she was surprised when he didn't run for his life as all creatures did save her favored pets.

 _How peculiar, that_ . . .

" **Who are you**?" she asked. She wondered why he would attempt to save her when all others sought to destroy or entrap her.

 _Perhaps he is a god_? He had flown her into the air without the aid of wings. It was this act that had saved him from her power. She had hesitated out of curiosity.

He had passed through her ravens and the flying metal without harm . . . _No_ , she corrected herself. _He is hurt_. She could smell the blood on him. Her eyes immediately found each wound received by him in the act of aiding her. The fact that he could bleed wasn't unusual to her. She knew better than most that gods could bleed. But the question remained as to why a god would bother to save her when even a god had to know his ultimate end lay at her fingertips?

"My name is R- . . . Nightwing," he told her.

His voice shook slightly but he did not stammer. He had started to give her a different name but then deliberately said another.

 _Night. Wing_ . . . Her bluish-black lips lifted slightly. A strange sensation with which she was unfamiliar. _I am_ . . . _amused_ , she decided, plucking the knowledge out of the ether.

She walked toward him. That he stiffened and took another step back was ignored but when he continued to hold his ground, she was oddly pleased. Stopping in front of him, she sniffed, breathing in the scent of his skin, his sweat, his fear, and the blood. Her eyes watched a bead of red as it slid slowly down his cheek from a deep scratch that one of her pets had given him. Her vision then dropped down to the ragged tear in his strange clothing, where his blood dripped far more freely. She reached out with one hand and dragged one of her talons across it.

He hissed but never moved. Far more used to beings cowering, she was fascinated by his audacity. It was . . . refreshing.

She brought up the crimson drop to her own bloodless lips. She watched as the artificial lighting of the city glistened off of its surface and then . . . her finger dipped into her mouth and she tasted him.

She blinked, surprised. She was never surprised and yet he had managed to do it twice in just a few short minutes.

" **Human** ," she announced unnecessarily.

"Um . . . Yes," he answered softly.

She frowned at him. " **But you flew. Humans don't fly.** "

The corner of his mouth tipped up. "Actually, we do but no, not in the sense you are meaning." He held his grapple gun up as a means of explanation. "I, uh, take it that you aren't . . . human, I mean?"

" **I am not** ," she explained. " **I am . . . _MORE_**."

He shivered in response. Her lips tilted again as she watched him fight his instincts.

"Why did you attack the police?" Nightwing asked her. His courage was growing, she noted.

" **They attacked me** ," she told him.

"And why were they attacking you?" he asks for clarification. "Because of those you killed?"

She shrugged one shoulder carelessly. " **When do they not? It is the nature of all creatures to fight for their own existence.** **It is of no consequence. Death comes to all in the End.** "

"S-So, you _were_ going to kill them?" The Night Wing switched his position, taking a more defensive stance.

Her lips twitched. Like he could stop her should he try; she found the idea mildly entertaining.

" **Of course** ," she said quite reasonably. " **Although I am replete for now. I find my curiosity outstrips my appetite at the moment.** " She considered him before admitting, " **I have never actually spoken to one of you before.** "

"You mean humans."

" **I mean, prey** ," she said, truthfully. " **But you . . . _You_ . . . _amuse_ me**."

Despite her open admission of her fascination, she noticed that he remained on his guard. She wasn't offended. It was a sign of his intelligence. Though, had she wanted it, his life would be hers between one breath and the next.

"So happy to oblige," he said, sarcastically.

She did not understand the concept of sarcasm, however. It was his word choice that caught her attention and her smile faded as she considered him for a time.

" **But you are** ** _not_** **, are you**?" she asked. " **Not really**."

The Night Wing frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She studied him for a second as she compared their existence. " **It is my nature to have a solitary existence** ," she explained. " **I do not seek companionship. If I converse, it has only been to one or two of my peers . . . gods and goddesses** ," she clarified. " **None, however, are my equal for they, too, will fall before me . . . in the End.** "

He blinked at her. "So, you are a goddess?"

" **I am _The Goddess_** ," she said to him.

" _The_ Goddess . . .? Like the One who created everything?"

" **No. I am not the Creator** ," she explained. " **I am the Destroyer. I am Dal 'Riata Abn'la, the goddess of Death and of Blood. I am The End.** "

She watched him grow pale. "The end of . . . _life_?" he asked.

" **Of _Everything_.** "

* * *

 _The End of Everything_ . . . It was not so much what she had said as it was the way she had said it. Matter-of-fact, with not even a hint of arrogance. Unlike some of the more powerful creatures he had had the misfortune to meet over the last few years, _she_ did not feel the need for arrogance. She was what she was . . . And what was that she had said? That gods would fall before her as well . . .

 _Sh-She's a god-killer_ , Dick realized, swallowing. _How the hell do I stop a being capable of destroying the gods themselves_. His knees felt a little watery and he stiffened them. How powerful was she?

"But not tonight," he declared with a bravado that he did not feel.

She ignored his challenge much like a man would ignore the challenge of the ant. It was of no consequence to one such as she.

" **You grieve** ," Dal 'Riata announced abruptly.

The change of subject threw him for a moment and Dick's mind fluttered with images of his parents and then of Bruce . . . of Alfred, and the manor before settling back on Bruce. The latest loss was the most painful.

"My parents were murdered years ago," he said slowly.

" **There is that** ," she acknowledged, " **but no, that grief has ebbed while another grows. It is not death that saddens you.** "

"M-My guardian," he admitted. "How did you . . .? Are you reading my mind?"

" **It is not so difficult** ," she shrugged lightly. " **You are so very troubled. I think that, for you, death would provide much relief.** "

When she raised her hand, Nightwing moved back again, needing the distance. He pulled out his escrima sticks, flicking the switch to enable the stun option. It would be naught but a token gesture and he knew it.

"I have no desire for the Big Sleep just yet, goddess."

That sly smile was back. " **It is inevitable.** "

"That may be, but I will never go willingly into that embrace," he said with a hint of anger. He wasn't _that_ desperate. Not yet.

She tilted her head again, those cold eyes seeing, effortlessly it seemed, into his soul. " **I do not believe that is entirely true . . . but** ," Dal 'Riata smiled grandly, shining teeth behind bloodless, blue lips, " **I will honor your request.** "

Nightwing let the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "Thank you," he felt compelled to say.

Dick took a couple of steps to the side to look down at the action happening in the street. It was an epileptic's nightmare below. There were more flashing lights from yet more patrol cars, SWAT, and other emergency vehicles that had arrived during his peculiar conversation. The police officers had been injured, although none appeared critically. He had the feeling that without his ill-conceived actions earlier, there would have been four more corpses to add to the number of dead.

An officer spotted him and pointed. Nightwing moved back out of sight. He worried about the outcome of another confrontation tonight. He would prefer to avoid that but, unfortunately, no ideas were presenting themselves to him.

"Why are you here? Now?" Nightwing asked the goddess. Maybe if he knew what she wanted, he could get her to leave before more police officers rushed up here and found their own deaths.

" **For the same reason I go anywhere** ," she told him.

"Which _is_?" he growled a little in his frustration. Getting a straight-forward answer from her was proving to be difficult. Dick decided she hadn't much experience with communication. _And why would she bother if everyone she spoke with was about to die_?

" **To destroy** ," she answered, tilting her head back to look at the sky. " **It is your universe's time. When nothing else exists, I will travel to another realm and then to another and another until only I and the Creator remain.** "

"Universe?" The word came out weakly. _Not just earth, then, but the entire universe_ . . . _other realms, other universes_. . . "No. Please. We're not ready."

" **Death waits for no one.** " Those cold eyes landed on him again.

"Is there no way to convince you to let us be . . . for now?"

She frowned at him and it terrified him. This feeling was far more potent, he discovered, than any fear toxin.

" **So many worries for one so young** ," she murmured. " **You sought to save me and now you seek to save others from me. The irony does not escape me. Such a grand resolve and yet, I wonder . . . Is there no one to save you?** "

Bruce appeared instantly in his mind's eye and Dick shook his head to clear it. He had burned that bridge when he had left Gotham this last time. This wasn't about him anyway. What good would it do to save himself if everything else he cared for died around him?

"Once, maybe but not anymore," slipped out. He hadn't meant to say anything.

He startled suddenly when Dal 'Riata was suddenly standing inches in front of him. He hadn't even seen her move! Was she that fast or could she teleport?

" ** _I_** **will do it** ," she declared, wonderingly. " ** _I_** **will save you**."

"You . . . Wait! What? But . . . I-I don't need . . ."

" **Ah, but you _do_** ," she corrected him gently. " **You** ** _should_** **be grateful. I have never before chosen to bestow a gift upon any being in all of my eternity."**

Another spike of fear. His heart was pounding out of his chest. "I am _afraid_ of your gift, goddess. I don't want to die." Remembering the gray, shriveled corpses before they disintegrated into dust, Dick found himself wondering if it had hurt. It _looked_ as if it had hurt.

" **Say my name** ," she commanded.

"Dal 'Riata . . ." he stumbled on the unfamiliar words.

" **Abn'la** ," she coaxed him and he repeated it.

" **It is not death, my Night Wing** ," she assured him. " **I merely wish to take your worries from you, to send you back to a simpler time.** "

"No . . . I . . ." Was she talking about time travel?

Laying a cold finger across his lips, she interrupted him.

" **You may thank me now** ," she whispered. She punctured her thumb with one of her talons and pressed the black blood upon his forehead and then, pressing cold lips upon the mark, she bestowed her blessing on him with a kiss.

The world twisted, his head swirled, and Dick lost awareness for a time.

He blinked as the trance-like feeling receded and he became aware of his surroundings again. When he opened his eyes, he found Dal 'Riata Abn'la standing on the far side of the rooftop from him. Her ravens were flying, spiraling upward in the air above her. Then horror overwhelmed him as Dick finally noticed the bodies surrounding him. The rooftop was _covered_ in corpses. Gray, shriveled statues in the form of Bludhaven police officers and SWAT. Far more numerous than those disturbing remains, were the _empty_ uniforms and the scattering of a fine, gray powder that shifted and flowed across the roof and around his ankles.

 _My God! No!_ How long had he been out of it? Had all of this been happening while he had just stood there?

" _What did you_ _do_?" he screamed at her.

" **What I always do** ," she answered, her voice as calm as before, although Nightwing could tell that her many voices had grown in power. It now echoed over the buildings and throughout the desolated streets below.

" **Go home, my Night Wing** ," Dal 'Riata commended him. " **I will spare your world for a time and will begin my work elsewhere.** "

"Elsewhere?" he asked. He felt lightheaded, shocky. He was having difficulty focusing his thoughts.

" **But I _will_ be back** ," she told him.

And with that ominous promise, the ravens swooped down and surrounded her like a whirlwind and, when they flew away over the tops of the buildings and skyscrapers, she was gone. And although time for him had been affected, he hadn't travel through it. He didn't know if he should be grateful for that or disappointed but, for now, earth at least was safe from her power.

This was bigger than him. Bigger than anything he had ever even heard of . . .

Dick stumbled over the piles of clothing and equipment. It looked like the ravages of war up here, and it took everything in his power to keep his feet under him. Where was his famous Grayson agility now? He caught himself on the small parapet that lined the edge of the roof. He was pulling his grapple gun out when he remembered the box he had hidden across the street on the top of the other building.

Somehow, if there was a way to stop her, he prayed that the box and the scroll he had discovered contained the answer.

* * *

The trip back to his apartment was fraught with close calls. Whatever the goddess, Dal 'Raita Abn'la, did to him, Nightwing counted himself lucky that he had not killed himself before he was easing through the window in his bedroom. By the time he slid the window closed, he was ready to collapse.

Every nerve was on fire. He felt every bruise, every scratch and, in particular, the gouge along his ribs. The entire left side of his suit was sticky with his blood. But, for all that, the wound were still oozing; it wasn't bleeding freely. If he could get himself cleaned up and bandaged, he should be fine. With that goal in mind, Dick peeled away the first layer of his Nightwing personae with his mask. He tossed the scrap atop the box and shoved them both into his closet with the intent of hiding them in his secret compartment where he stored his costume and other hallmarks of his Nightwing personae later. First things first . . .

Dick leaned against the wall as the room began to spin around him. He needed to get into the bathroom before he lost his stomach. He dropped his escrima sticks and gloves, and one of the weapons rolled across the floor. He left it where it lay. He would get it later, when he was feeling better. He groaned as his joints began to ache.

"Damn it, Grayson, this is the last time you are allowing any goddess to bless you," he growled to himself aloud. _Or maybe it was just the blessings of goddesses of death and destruction that really sucked_.

He tugged at his top, yanking it over his head and leaving it where it lay on the bathroom floor as he stumbled to the sink. He glanced at himself in the mirror and saw the black mark on his forehead left by Dal 'Riata. He rubbed at it with his thumb but the substance had already dried and would require more effort that he had to spare at the moment.

He turned his attention to the torn skin on his cheek, instead. While he admitted it wasn't as bad as it could have been, it could still get infected if he didn't treat it. Considering it had been a raven, who knew what type of foreign bacteria the scratch contained. Luckily, his body, while was peppered with bruises, had few scratches. His body armor had protected him from the vast majority of potential injuries he could have accrued doing what he had been doing.

The worst areas belonged to the gash that bullet had gouged out of him and the scrapes along his right shoulder and hip. His costume's material had been partially scraped away in those areas but had held together enough to save him from serious road rash. What he _did_ have was red and bruised from his impact with the roof but had bled very little. Dick knew there were a few pieces of gravel and asphalt that had been left behind but, for the most part, it looked worse than it felt.

He was reaching for his bottle of painkiller when the room began to spin again, even more aggressively than before. This time, darkness finally swept over him and Dick's head met the bathroom floor with a sickening thud.

* * *

It was the crying that had dragged thirty-year-old Livie out of sleep. The sound made no sense. She blinked as she tried to recognize it. It sounded like a child or maybe a baby but their building didn't allow children. Her husband, Marty, groaned and tugged his pillow over his head.

"Livie," he whined. "Tell the neighbors to turn down that racket. I've got to get up early for my shift."

 _That's right_ , she thought, _Marty's working first shift in_ . . . she glanced at the clock, and winced, _in four hours_. It was one o'clock in the morning. She rolled out of bed and reached for her robe, dragging it on to help ward off the chill of March temperatures. Her slippers made a scuffing noise as she shuffled out into the living room and opened the door to the hallway.

Livie squinted into the light produced by the bare bulb. The Willis' were opening their door as well. She waved at Frank and Doris as the met her in the hall. Frank was scowling as he scratched at his morning beard. Doris smiled, looking chipper, despite it being in the middle of the night. The retired couple had lived in their apartment since their marriage fifty years ago. Livie knew they wouldn't move even though they were getting up in years and their building had no elevator.

"Who the hell is making all that noise?" Frank growled at her.

Livie shook her head. "Like I would know," she fended off his grumpiness. "but it sounds like a child."

"That's what I told him," Doris said as she elbowed her husband out of the way. "Didn't I say that, Frank? It sounds like a child."

"Can't be," he groused, rubbing the pain from his wife's bony elbows away irritably. "No kids allowed."

Dorus harrumphed. "It wasn't always that way," she told Livie as if imparting a great secret. "We raised our David right here in this apartment. Didn't we, Frank?"

Livie smiled. She had heard this story a million times since she and Marty had moved here five years ago. "It's coming from the new guy's apartment," Livie noted.

"He seemed like a such a nice, young man," Doris nodded. "Didn't he, Frank?"

Frank grunted. "Barely out of short pants, that one is. Think it's him that's making all that noise?"

Livie blinked. The new guy _had_ appeared to be young but hardly a child. This sounded like a very young child, perhaps even a toddler. Whoever was crying was extremely upset about something.

"Not hardly. Maybe he fell asleep with his television on," Livie suggested. It was possible, too, that he had a girlfriend with a child staying over but Livie had seen no visitors coming or going during the week he had been here.

Frank snorted. "Damned inconsiderate," he grumbled as he marched over to the door. "How can anyone sleep through that screeching?"

He banged on the door with his fist. The door was solid wood and heavy but it rattled on its hinges from the force of Frank's pounding.

" ** _Hey, shut that racket off in there_** ," he roared, determined to make himself heard. " ** _People are trying to sleep_**!"

The crying stopped for a few short seconds before it began again, even louder and higher pitch than before. Even Frank appeared a little startled by this. The three adults exchanged startled looks.

"That sounded like a real baby. You don't think . . ." Doris began. "Could there be an actual child in there?"

"No kids allowed, Doris," Frank reminded her.

Doris nodded immediately in agreement. "That's right," she said. "We have to go to David's house to see the grandchildren, don't we, Frank?"

"Well, it certainly _sounded_ real and it reacted to your pounding," Livie commented. "Maybe the kid belongs to a girlfriend?"

"Hey, what all's going on up in here?"

The couple and Livie turned as Hector from the fourth floor was coming up the stairs. His apartment sat right below the new tenant's. He had to be suffering just as much for sharing a ceiling with the guy as the rest of them did for sharing walls.

"We think the new tenant might have a child in his apartment," Livie explained.

"It's the damned television," Frank insisted. "No consideration." Frank pounded on the door again. " ** _Shut that crap up_** ," he yelled.

The crying raised in pitch.

"Stop it, Frank," Doris patted her husband's shoulder. "You're scaring the poor thing."

"What the hey?" Hector rubbed his eyes. "Didn't Horowitz give him the spiel?"

"No kids allowed," all four of them quoted together.

"Yes, Hector, we know," Livie told him.

"Yeah, well, I called down a few minutes ago and told Horowitz to get his tight ass up here," Hector said around a yawn.

"I'm getting to old for this shit," Stephan Horowitz complained as he stomped up the stairs to join the growing crowd. "What the hell is that noise?"

"We think it's a baby," Livie told him.

"Impossible! No kids allowed," Stephan barked, ignoring the way the others rolled their eyes at him. "I told him that, too, before I gave him the keys. He said he didn't have any kids and he didn't have a girlfriend."

Hector raised his eyebrows. "A good-looking guapo like that has no girlfriend? Do you think he likes the fellows?" he asked, suddenly interested.

Stephan snorted, "Keep it in your pants, Hector. I'd be surprised if Grayson isn't still jailbait."

Hector snapped his fingers. "He's certainly built like he's all man. I'm just saying is all."

Frank rolled his eyes. "Then where did this kid come from?"

"That's what we're going to find out now," Stephan told them, moving to the door.

"Already knocked," Frank told him, "twice."

Stephan knocked and called out. " ** _Grayson_** **?** ** _Open up_** **!** ** _It's the super_** **. . .** "

After a couple of minutes passed with no answer except more crying, Stephan pulled out a wad of keys from his plaid robe and searched out the one he needed. He slid it in the lock. The knob turned but the door refused to budge. There was a brand-new deadbolt on the door and it looked as though Grayson was using it. Horowitz rattled it in frustration and the crying stopped a couple of seconds before resuming yet again.

"Do you think the guy's hurt?" Livie asked. "Maybe that's why he's not answering."

Hector clicked his tongue. "You mean like a drug addict? You think he's OD'd or something?"

"Not necessarily," Livie denied. "I meant that maybe he fell and hit his head?"

Stephan gaped at her. "You think he's bleeding all over my floors?"

Doris looked alarmed. "Oh, no . . . Should I call 911?"

"I don't know!" Livie threw up her hands in frustration.

Stephan was looking alarmed now. "Oh no! No, no, no . . . _No_ 911," he declared. "They come in with their muddy shoes and crowbars and axes. They tear up my hallways and destroy my doors," He shuddered. "No, no 911."

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" Frank bellowed. "Listen, Horowitz, we pay our rent on time . . ."

Stephan held up a hand as he thought for a moment. He nodded. "Okay, listen. The kid gave me a number to use in emergencies. Told me not to use it but, you know, I got to have someone to call if someone croaks or whatever."

No one said anything. It wasn't notifying the tenant's next of kin that Horowitz was talking about. He was only concerned with any back rent the person might have left behind or to pay for any repairs for damages that the tenant might have caused.

* * *

Stephan stomped back down the stair to his own apartment and to the rolodex he kept just for the people who live in his building. Whoever he got ahold of could be helping Grayson move right back out of here if he really broke the rules and brought a child in his place . . . _and_ after Stephan had spent several long minutes making sure the kid understood them and everything.

Damn shame, too. Grayson had seemed like a nice enough kid but it seemed like they were all alike. So, it wasn't the parties all night with him but the results were still the same in the end and Stephan couldn't abide getting phone calls from irate neighbors in the middle of the night. He found the card he was looking for with the name and number on it. On it was Grayson's written request not to call it except in emergencies.

 _Well, this was an emergency_. _Nobody can sleep and if Grayson won't open the door_. . .

 _Alfred Pennyworth_ , the card said. It was a Gotham number. _Damn_!

"Couldn't have been someone local, could it?" he complained, muttering under his breath as he picked up the phone. He made a mental note to add the long-distance charges to the kid's bill.

* * *

"Understood, sir," Alfred spoke into the mic on his headset. "Yes, the boy is fine. He was sleeping when I checked on him an hour ago. He will be pleased to know that you have captured the rest of the men. That is very good news."

He was currently watching the video that was streamed to the cave from the camera fitted into the cowl. He had hated watching the video when they first implemented it but for occasions like this one. Watching Batman sweep through the building where the latest cache of drugs was being distributed to the middle men that headed up the various neighborhood, including Jason's old one, Alfred hated it for different reasons.

The violence that the Batman would mete out in his brand of vigilantism was to be expected but, during the last half year, the level of brutality had increased far more than was necessary. When he had been accompanied by Master Robin, that violence had only been the amount that was required in order to get the job done. For several months, after Master Richard had left the manor angrily, Batman's barbarity had risen as a direct reflection of Master Bruce's frustration. These last several weeks, however . . . Well, Alfred would have to admit to it being the first time his sympathies lay with the criminals of which Batman was forced to deal.

"Will you be returning to the cave shortly, sir?" he asked.

"No, not yet," Batman's voice sounded through the earpiece. "I got a name out of one of the men here tonight. I want to check it out first and make certain the information is legitimate. I don't trust him to be as willing to testify before a grand jury as he was for me tonight. That means I need to find the evidence that will connect the name to the drugs."

"I have a feeling that your interrogation methods wouldn't be approved of by a court of law." Alfred added dryly.

There was a hint of a smirk in the growl when Batman answered. "It wasn't as if I had planned to actually drop him, Agent A."

"Hm, well, it is nice to see you in a _good_ mood for a change," Alfred noted sarcastically as his pocket buzzed. "Very well, I will leave you to it, then."

He frowned as his hand dipped down to retrieve his personal cell phone. The number of people who had his personal number were less than a handful, and coming at this time of the night meant it would not be good news. He looked at it and felt his heart skip a beat.

He didn't recognize the number, only the area code. _Bludhaven_ . . . and that could only mean that the reason behind Batman's most recent foul temper was in trouble.

He took off the headset and answered the call.

"Hello? Master Richard?" Alfred answered carefully. "Are you in trouble?"

"Master who?" came a harsh voice on the other end of the line, making the butler's breath catch in his throat. "I'm looking for an Alfred Pennyworth. Is that you?"

"Indeed. May I ask who you are and how you came about this number?" Alfred demanded. Why was a stranger calling him in Richard's stead?

Dear Lord, he had talked to the young sir just two weeks ago! It wasn't as if Master Richard wasn't capable of caring for himself against the dregs of society. Alfred's concerns for the young sir had been regulated to thoughts of shelter and food. Of course, he was fully aware that Master Richard had taken on a new identity with which to battle the criminal set, and who knew what dangers that boy would face without the protective aid of the Batman or his young Titan friends but Master Richard seemed determined to prove he could go it alone.

It was just . . . _Bludhaven_! Even the dregs of Gotham's criminals looked like upstanding citizens compared to most of those who trolled that city's streets. Despite his hesitance, Alfred had agreed to keep the boy's location secret from his employer. That had proven to be especially difficult when he knew that Master Bruce had been searching for information on the Richard to ease either his conscience or his worry. Indeed, after kicking the boy out of the only home he had, Alfred had thought it fitting that his employer had to deal with a bit of worry on the young master's behalf.

Alfred only heard the report secondhand from Master Jason as to what had occurred in the Batcave nearly a month ago. Master Bruce had refused to speak of it but the butler knew it had been very bad. The Batman's degree of violence had been pushing the edge since then.

"My name's Stephan Horowitz . . ." said the man on the phone.

"I do not recognize the name, sir. I do not mean to blunt but it is late. If there is a point to this call, I would appreciate it if you would get to it post haste."

"Yeah, don't need to get all hoity-toity like on me, Mr. Fancy Pants," Mr. Horowitz complained. "I have a tenant here that gave me your name as his emergency contact. A Richard Grayson. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Alfred's heart skipped a beat. Not a kidnapper then, but this boded just as ill in his opinion. "It does. What, pray tell, is the nature of the emergency? Is Master Richard alright?"

"Ah, well, see, it's like this. I don't really know," Horowitz sighed. "The kid added an extra deadbolt to his door and I cannot get in to check, and he refuses to answer."

"Perhaps, then, he is asleep or isn't at home at present," Alfred added reasonably, quite certain now that the boy was likely out patrolling his new city. But for what reason had the building's superintendent felt the need to get Richard's attention.

"That is part of the problem, see? His kid has been screaming straight through for the past thirty minutes and the building doesn't allow for kids," Horowitz explained.

Alfred blinked. "I'm afraid there must be some mistake. Master Richard doesn't have children."

Horowitz snorted into the phone. "I don't know about 'Master' Richard, but Richard Grayson had a child in his apartment, against the rules I'll have you, and the kid's been screaming his lungs out. Richard is neither opening the door nor is he doing anything to quiet the brat down. Now, someone needs to deal with this, as my other paying tenants are complaining, otherwise I'll be forced to call the police and ring up child protective services."

Alfred had no idea what situation that Master Richard had gotten himself into, but the last thing anyone needed at this point was the addition of the police or CPS. He didn't know where this child had come from but no situation had ever been improved, in Alfred's estimation, with CPS' involvement.

"Very well," Alfred conceded. "I can be there first thing in the morning." He began making plans to rearrange his day in order to allow for this trip.

"Ah, see, that right there . . . That's a no go," Mr. Horowitz disagreed. "This needs to be dealt with now, tonight."

"I'm afraid I simply cannot get there before then," Alfred argued.

He did not wish to drag Master Jason out at this time of night and he certainly couldn't leave the boy alone in the manor unattended. The younger boy had only been in the manor for a couple of months, hardly long enough to become acclimated entirely, and also, Alfred reluctantly admitted, he didn't fully trust him to not sneak out on his own as Robin.

"Right," Horowitz sighed. "The police it is then . . ."

" _No_! Wait . . . I'll need to contact someone first. I can have another there in my stead in an hour. Would that be agreeable?" Alfred said quickly.

"An hour? That's a long time to listen to this kid screaming . . ."

"I'm sure you noticed when you called this number that it has a Gotham area code. The city is at least an hour from Bludhaven," Alfred reminded him. "The best we can do is an hour."

"Okay, fine. But three o'clock comes along without someone showing up and I'm calling the cops. There are laws against leaving little kids alone. You get my drift?" Horowitz agreed grudgingly.

"Your drift has been gotten, sir, I assure you." Alfred told him stiffly. "You can expect Master Wayne in approximately an hour from now."

"Sure . . . So, who's this Master Wayne fellow you're talking about?"

"He is Richard's father." Alfred said, ending the call.

He sighed, not looking forward to this next call in the slightest. He dreaded the row that would likely result from this but, if Richard was in trouble, not to mention this unknown child the building superintendent was speaking of, then who better to rescue him than the Batman? Alfred would do what he could at that point to have Master Bruce rescue Master Richard, then would attempt to save him again from the wrath of his rescuer.

 _A child_. _Dear Lord . . . Master Richard, whatever have you gotten yourself into now_? Alfred wondered of his unofficial grandson.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Things start getting really interesting now . . . What do you think so far?**


	5. Bats and Boo-Boos

**Warning: Language and A Little Innuendo . . .**

* * *

Batman shifted and the Batmobile growled with the additional power. Luckily, there was little in the way of traffic out at this time of night. His lips were white as he clenched his jaw. His nostrils flared as he worked to control his temper. _All this time_ . . .

All this time, he had been punishing himself with guilt over their last argument, worrying about where Dick was and if he was safe, and Alfred had known for nearly _two weeks_! The older man had believed Bruce had been too hard on the boy in his effort to keep him safe and had been forced to listen to numerous lectures by his butler on the ineffectiveness of his version of tough love.

The man had claimed what Bruce practiced wasn't tough love, that it could hardly be called ' _love_ ' at all. Alfred didn't understand, though, and Bruce didn't know the words that could explain it. Dick had been pulling away from him . . . Soon, he would lose him altogether, but he didn't have to lose him to the likes of the Joker.

The first time Dick had left, after he had been fired, Bruce had been able to keep tabs on his whereabouts through the back entrance into the Teen Titans' computer system. It wasn't difficult since the computer had been supplied by Wayne Technologies. Bruce had laid the ground work for his hack before the computer had even been shipped out. And when the boy had left his friends for Metropolis, Clark had given regular updates on Dick's condition over the few months he had been there.

So, when Dick had reentered the Batcave three and a half weeks ago, Batman had been the first to be alerted when his code was entered. He had been expecting him, in fact. What he _hadn't_ been expecting had been that costume he had been wearing. Bruce wouldn't be thanking Clark anytime soon for putting ideas about going solo in the Dick's head when Bruce had been trying to get him out of crime-fighting. However, that hadn't been the only thing to surprise him when he came out to greet his long-lost son . . .

Jason had been sent to his room for the night after finishing a couple of hours of training earlier. He was not supposed to have been down in the cave nor had he been allowed to try on the Robin costume. But he should have known, should have expected it from the teenager. Jason's fascination with the costume was bordering on obsessive. Bruce had originally thought it was a good incentive to encourage the boy's training.

Of course, the fourteen-year-old had only been at the manor for two months and training for the last six weeks. He was far from ready to make his debut as the next Boy Wonder. Dick's assessment of Jason's ability had been spot on. Bruce _knew_ that, but when Dick had laid into him, and reminded him how dangerous the job was, he had fell back on his tried and true method of coping with an onslaught of guilt and disappointment: anger.

It had been unfortunate that it had gotten so out of hand. Dick's anger had fed into Bruce's own and he had no doubt that he had provoked Dick's in return. Guilt continued to stab at him. It had grown exponentially since that night when he had struck the boy he had come to look on as a son.

 _Dick's face_ . . . His new mask with its white lenses couldn't hide the shock and hurt that one thoughtless action had caused. Dick had left then, all but running away from him. _And Jason_ . . . The boy had looked at him differently after that. Not disappointed, however, more like he felt vindicated, as if he was had been waiting for Bruce to act just like everyone else in his life.

He had never before hit Dick out of anger. He had many times during sparring, even a couple of times accidentally but _never_ intentionally. Bruce could argue that this hadn't been intentional either. At the time, the thought hadn't even been formed in his mind before he had been acting on it. He _hadn't_ planned it, for God's sake. It had been more instinct than anything else but how would he ever get Dick to believe that, let alone Jason who had been expecting it.

Bruce frowned as he drove, comparing the two boys in his mind.

Jason had no patience and never had a structured day or experienced the need for self-discipline in his life. By contrast, Dick's entire life had been structured from the day he had been born.

Dick had been living with rules and a set training schedule since he could walk. Self-discipline and a good work ethic had been a way of life because the lives of aerial acrobats depended upon it. Dick had learned early the value of trust and strict obedience, and understood without question that the results of disobedience could be deadly. So, when Dick had come to the manor at the heartbreakingly young age of eight, he had already been a well-seasoned athlete with incredible talent. He was used to rigorous training and mind-numbing repetition and had already possessed a strong, steady drive for success.

Then there was those well-honed instincts that Dick possessed. The impressive sense of spatial recognition and an innate ability to read people and situations, neither of which could not be taught. Jason possessed this, too, but on a lesser scale. Dick's natural talent for this had been the greatest that Bruce had ever seen. It had made him a phenomenal acrobat in a family of phenomenal acrobats. It has also made him the perfect partner.

He had learned astoundingly quick, not only to judge the situation accurately, but he could also predict the Batman's decisions and actions at any given time. Robin had known instantly how to aid, assist, and compensate for his partner in the field. It was that bit of magic that had made them the Dynamic Duo, a nickname that had secretly amused Bruce to no end.

So, it had not been an easy decision to terminate that partnership but Bruce's delight at having someone to share his dark mission with had begun to vie with his growing affection for the boy that had so radically changed his life. It hadn't taken any time at all to like the boy. Dick had a charm and affable personality that was impossible to disregard. From there it had been a natural progression, a mere half-step, from an easy affection to a father's love.

Bruce had never wanted children, so when he discovered that suddenly he did, it wasn't just _any_ child that would do. Even the natural desire for his own progeny wasn't strong enough to compete with this yearning he had to make Dick his son in truth. But family was precious and parents sacred in Bruce's mind. He refused to usurp Dick's father's place, even with himself.

He had the paperwork for Dick adoption drawn up years ago. The packet still sat in the locked drawer within his desk at work, finished but for Dick's age and the date. Bruce had even signed it in a sentimental moment . . . He had just never submitted them. And if he wasn't going to go through with the adoption, he certainly wasn't going to bring it up to Dick and risk upsetting him.

But if Dick Grayson had any faults, it was that his temper and stubbornness were equal to Bruce's own. As Dick aged, those two things had contributed greatly to his and the teen's increasingly explosive arguments. Although, while Dick's temper was formidable, it was tempered by the boy's compassion, his ability to forgive, and the fact that he had gained the justice he had craved for his parents' murder.

Jason, unfortunately, was angry at the world. Compassion had been beaten out of him at a young age and the betrayal by everyone he had ever placed his faith in had limited his ability to trust. He had been abandoned by his parents, his mother by death and his father by his own bad life choices. He had been forced to become independent early on, making and relying upon his own judgment and decisions. While this made it impossible for Jason to be a good partner at the moment, Batman had hope that he could change all that in time by working with him on his trust issues and redirecting his rage into something productive.

Batman sighed. Jason was strong and determined but he was no Dick Grayson . . . and Bruce already understood that he never would be. Dick was a world-class athlete with incredible instincts and a strong moral fiber ingrained into his very bones. Jason was a strong, scrappy survivor who relied on his quick reflexes and giant helping of bravado to get him through one day to the next.

* * *

This time of night traffic was always light and Batman weaved in and around it with ease. He would be at the address Alfred had relayed to him well before the three-a.m. mark but he would need time to change out of his uniform and into his costume. Seldom did the world need Bruce Wayne over Batman but he continued to carry a change of clothing in the Batmobile for occasions such as this.

This . . . was not a situation he had ever expected to find himself in. He, who prepared for every eventuality, had never thought that he would be rushing to save a child that might belong to Dick. Certainly, not like this, at any rate!

Bruce knew his lifestyle wasn't a good role-model for a young boy struggling through puberty but he had been very careful to stress the reasons he kept up the pretenses to Dick. That he would occasionally escape the stresses of his life through the solace found in the arms of a beautiful woman was to be expected but Bruce was always diligent when it came to protection. He was fully aware that any one of the women he spent a night with might get it into her head that becoming pregnant would net herself a billionaire husband and he took pains to ensure that would never happen.

He warned Dick that there were unscrupulous women that might prey on him as a way to get to Bruce's money. He warned Dick, by the same token, that it was his responsibility to protect his partner from the possible consequences of their actions. Other than those warnings and an intensely awkward half hour to which he had given Dick 'The Talk', Bruce didn't intrude on that part of Dick's life. The boy was responsible and conscientious far beyond his years . . . Surely, he wouldn't be careless, not when the results of his actions could have far-reaching consequences that affected lives beyond his own.

But, obviously, he had been wrong to give Dick the benefit of the doubt. Batman gripped the steering wheel hard enough to leave fingerprints.

 _A child_? _What the hell had Dick been thinking_? _And why didn't he tell him_?

Batman pounded the steering wheel once. He knew why Dick didn't tell him . . . Bruce hadn't been exactly forthcoming himself lately, and after this last fiasco, why would he expect Dick to come to him with information when he plainly felt he couldn't trust Bruce to support him in his troubles. Had this been the reason that Dick chose to visit him a month ago after months of his absence?

He shoved that painful memory out of his mind. None of that explained this current situation.

Bruce knew that Dick wasn't so irresponsible as to leave a baby unattended in another room, let alone unattended in the apartment. _Although he had been irresponsible at some point, hadn't he_? Batman thought grimly. _The question remained where was the mother_? _Had she abandoned the child with its father_?

Dick wasn't prepared for fatherhood, particularly when he was practically homeless himself. Practically . . . Alfred said he had found a place to live in Bludhaven.

Batman shook his head. _Bludhaven_! _Whatever possessed Dick to come here_? At least, in Gotham, Bruce or Alfred could have kept an eye on him, been there if some crazy thing came up that he needed help with . . .

He blew out his breath slowly. It was a controlled, extended release of the air in his lungs through his nose. _Dick would never have stayed in Gotham City after this last fight, but why not go back to Metropolis_? _Clark could have watched out for him there_.

Bludhaven, however, had corruption woven throughout its fibers from the lowest criminal to the highest officials. The dregs of society congregated there because the vast majority of cops were part and parcel with the criminal element.

 _Which is exactly why Dick had chosen it_ . . . _Bludhaven had needed a hero_.

Bruce snorted. Bludhaven needed a dozen heroes and even that was no guarantee that the state of the city could be reversed. What could one person do to make a dent in that muck? Even Batman chose to not dirty his boots there.

When the GPS reminded him that he was within a few blocks of his destination, Batman pulled into an alley, his headlights illuminating a drug deal in progress. He shook his head. He hadn't even been looking for trouble. The dumpster was overflowing with trash and he could see rats scurrying around unconcerned and unafraid of the presence of the human variety slinking in the vicinity.

Batman pushed a button and the roof rolled back as he stood up. The two men, dealer and addict, gaped at him, frozen in shock.

 _Surely, they had heard of the Batman_. He stared back.

He figured that they had thought themselves safe in Bludhaven. Batman seldom ever stepped out of Gotham, after all, and if he did, it was to assist the Justice League, not harass drug dealers in the worst part of the worst town.

"Boo," he growled in his most dangerous voice.

Both men jumped at the sound of his voice and then ran, preferring to scale the chain-link fence blocking the back of the alley rather than pass by him. Batman didn't bother pursuing. They weren't the reason that he was here. But he needed them gone because Bruce Wayne needed a little privacy.

Pulling his change of clothing from the trunk, Batman transformed in a few uncomfortable moments into his civilian identity. But Bruce Wayne was just as out of place here as was Batman. He tugged on the navy-blue, wool, pea coat and shoved his hands into his pockets even as he locked and activated the car's security system. He doubled checked the address and the time.

* * *

Two forty-four in the morning. Sixteen minutes to go two blocks and up to apartment '5-C'. The buildings around here looked to be built around the twenties or thirties so, likely no elevator. He would need to climb the stairs to the fifth floor. He took off at a jog, using the cold as an excuse to rush. His breath formed puffs of condensation in the cold March weather. The Batsuit was insulated against the cold and with the addition of his clothes and the pea coat, he was warm enough.

He was only a block away when three men stepped out of the doorway up ahead, moving onto the sidewalk in order to intercept him. Although far from his best, Bruce supposed his clothing bespoke of person of some means. Certainly, more than any of these cretins might see in a year and as he was in a poor section of town, that meant that he was fair game.

Bruce checked his watch: 2:46 am. He had fourteen minutes left to get to Dick's apartment. Not enough time for him to get mugged, but more than enough time to deal with his new friends. It was dark here as several streetlights were broken, most likely on purpose to prevent victims from being able to make positive IDs on their assailants. Unfortunately, it was about to backfire on them. Confident that none of the men would recognize him as Bruce Wayne in what had to be one of the poorer sections of Bludhaven, he did not even bother to slow down.

In fact, he sped up.

He was almost upon them before they realized he wasn't going to stop. Bruce leapt up into the air slamming his left foot into the first guy's chest and knocking him off of his feet. Pulling a trick he had learned from Dick, Bruce spun off of the first opponent, twisting in midair as he brought his right leg over and kicking the middle man hard in the side of his head. He landed with his back to the third guy, encouraging the last man to run at him with his knife.

Rather than sticking the landing, Bruce continued to pivot on the ball of one foot, allowing the last opponent flew past him. Now overbalanced, his attacker stumbled as Bruce shoved the guy in his ass with his foot as he passed. The would-be mugger rammed head first into the driver's door of a parked car. The man slumped to the concrete, unconscious. The owner of the vehicle wouldn't even notice the extra dent in his car.

Bruce checked his watch again: 2:47 am.

As he walked through the bodies, the first guy raised his head, groggy and wheezing, only for Bruce to plant the sole of his loafer into his chin. The man's head snapped back as he joined his friends in darkness.

Bruce found Dick's building near the end of the block. He ran up the steps just as the door opened and he was met by a short, Hispanic man wearing a knee-length bathrobe inside the entrance.

"Are you the daddy cuz you look like you'd be the daddy to me, sugar?" the man asked with a pronounced lisp to his accent. His hair was cut in an asymmetrical style, short on one side with a long, sweeping bang that covered one eye.

Raising an eyebrow, Bruce looked at him doubtfully. "Are you . . . Horowitz?"

"Nah! I'm Hector," he smiled broadly at him, tucking a long piece of hair neatly out of the way and straightening on his pastel-blue, fluffy robe. "I live on the floor below. I told Stephan . . . That's Mr. Horowitz, the super, that I would wait for you cuz _ain't no one_ getting any sleep tonight."

Bruce ignored him and started for the stairs. He had ten minutes to spare but he wanted to find Dick and straighten this out as soon as possible.

"Mm-mm, good genes must run in your family," Hector murmured from where he followed directly behind him.

Bruce stopped in his tracks and glared angrily down at the man who had to be ten years Dick's senior. Hector jerked his eyes up and smiled guiltily.

"You know my _son_ **_how_**?" He allowed his voice to drop an octave lower than what he normally spoke as a civilian.

Hector's eyes widened in alarm and he stumbled a little, catching at the rail to prevent him from tumbling down the stairs in his blue, fluffy, high-heeled slippers.

"Oh my," he gasped startled. He clasped at the neck of his robe with his free hand. "I-I just met him the one time when he was moving in. I swear!"

Bruce grabbed a fist-full of Hector's robe and pulled him up the stairs, shoving the younger man in front of him. The better to keep Hector's eyes and thoughts on where they were going. He gave him a push.

Hector tripped but managed to catch himself, and he began to move more quickly up the stairs.

"Oh, so masculine . . . Be still my beating heart," he sighed softly.

Not softly enough. "Shut up and move," Bruce snapped.

"I'm going," Hector squealed as he scrambled up the steps a little faster.

As they reached the fourth floor and turned toward the fifth, Bruce grabbed Hector's robe and yanked him off of the steps.

"This is your stop. I can find my way from here, thank you."

Hector blinked as Bruce moved past him, smiling again. He waited until Bruce had rounded the landing and was no longer in sight before murmuring to himself. "Mm, I bet he could crack walnut in that tight . . ."

"I can hear you, Hector," Bruce snapped as he stomped up the last remaining flight.

"Good bye, my prince. Farewell." Hector whispered, waving his fingers at the now empty stairwell.

"I. Still. Hear. You." Bruce's growl rolled down from the floor above.

* * *

Several people in various stages of dress were awaiting him at the top of the stairs, three men and two women. The man of middling years stepped forward. He was balding but attempted to hide that fact by combing long, thinning strands over his shiny scalp.

"Mr. Wayne, I presume?"

"Horowitz?" Bruce nodded. His eyes went directly to the apartment door they were all huddled around. "I was told there was a child?"

The elder woman nodded vigorously and the younger woman wrung her hands nervously. "Yes! Oh yes, indeed," the older woman said.

"I don't hear any screaming," he noted. Alfred had relayed what Horowitz had said quite thoroughly.

The younger woman introduced herself. "I'm Livie and this is my husband, Marty. We live next door to your son. That is Frank and Doris, and they live on the other side," she said quickly. "There was a child that was crying inside your son's apartment since around one am. We knocked on the door but no one would answer or open the door for us. Anyway, the child stopped crying about fifteen minutes ago, and we were on the verge of calling 911."

Doris nodded again. "We think the baby might have fallen asleep but it had cried so hard and so long the silence began to worry us."

Marty ran a hand through his hair. "Look, are you planning on busting the door down or can I get some sleep now? I gotta get up in two hours." He turned and went back into his apartment and slammed the door.

Horowitz looked panicked at the idea.

"I apologize in my son's stead for disrupting your rest," Bruce told them all. "Although I will tell you now that I am not aware of any child in my son's life."

Horowitz shook his head. "He had assured me that he had no child nor a girlfriend but we all agreed that the crying we heard was definitely a kid. I told that Alfred Pennyworth that he knew up front that there are no kids allowed here. Anyway, my key only works on the door lock, not on the deadbolt. That's new."

"Don't know where the child could have come from. Nobody here saw anyone coming or going from the apartment except for your boy this entire week. But we thank you for coming and helping us sort this out," Frank muttered. "The women were getting a trifle upset, you understand."

"Of course," Bruce murmured. "If I may . . .?" he asked Horowitz who stood between him and the door.

"Please, by all means," Horowitz stepped out of the way but didn't leave. He watched with the other three adults what Bruce was doing.

No one seemed to be aware of who he was but Bruce was reluctant to pull out his lockpicks, although he carried them on him in his utility belt. At the risk of upsetting this child they spoke of, Bruce knocked on the door, hoping that Dick would open up for a familiar voice.

"Dick? Dick, can you hear me? It's Bruce. Can you open the door?" Bruce called out. He spoke loudly, in case he was sleeping. "Dick! Open the door, now!"

Bruce pressed his ear up against the wood. It was thick and the sounds inside were muffled. He thought he could hear some shuffling. _Someone_ was in there. Was it Dick? Or maybe this child he had been told of? Even with their falling out, Dick would know that the situation has become serious enough that he had been summoned from Gotham City. If Dick was in there and was capable of opening the door, Bruce felt that he would.

Only he didn't.

Bruce knocked again. "Richard! You will open this door immediately, do you hear me, young man?" he asked sternly this time.

Then he heard it. Someone was softly weeping. Bruce blinked. It _did_ sound like a child. He took a different approach.

"Hello? Can you hear me? Don't cry. You don't have to cry anymore. You're safe," he crooned through the door. It had been many years that he had used this tone of voice, only when Dick had been younger, and usually when he had been sick or injured or the dreams had been especially bad during the night.

"Can you hear me?" he repeated. "It's okay. You can come to the door and speak to me. Can you say something? Can you say hello?"

There were far too many times that Batman had found it necessary to coax a traumatized young child from a hiding spot. It wasn't easy to gain a child's trust while wearing a giant bat suit, but it was a skill that he had carefully cultivated. He remembered all too well being one of them himself.

Finally, he heard movement on the other side of the door.

"Hello? Are you there?" he asked gently.

"H-Hel-lo?" a little voice hiccupped.

 _Dear God_ . . . _It_ _ **is**_ _a child_!

"Hello . . . My name's Bruce. What's yours?" He needed to build some trust.

Sniffling . . . A whine . . . "I-I don't kno-o-ow," he sobbed. "I'm scared."

Bruce frowned. _What the devil was going on in there_? _Where was his son in all of this_?

"Can you tell me where Dick is?" _Did the child even know his name_? Bruce couldn't imagine his nineteen-year-old son with a child old enough to talk. And when would this have occurred? Dick had been burning the candle at both ends for far too long to have developed a serious romantic relationship. _Was this a result of a one-night stand_?

"D-Don't know?" The hiccups were back.

Bruce frowned. The mystery was no closer to being solved by speaking to the child . . . boy? He thought it was a boy. It was hard to tell as children's voices were similar when so young.

"Are you in there alone?" Bruce asked.

He could feel the eyes of Dick's neighbors on him. This looked very bad but Bruce knew that the boy he raised could not be so irresponsible as to leave a young child alone in a strange place. Or perhaps there was another reason . . . One that required a mask. Bruce's anger at Dick's reckless behavior was quickly morphing into worry.

"I don't know."

How old was this boy? "Is there anyone there with you? Someone sleeping, perhaps?"

"No," came the answer.

To have left a child alone in the middle of the night for hours was unconscionable but had Dick been in there and able to answer, no one would have had to call Alfred. Bruce had begun considering the possibility that his son could be lying in there unconscious or . . . or dead. The relief that this wasn't the case was fleeting at best.

"How old are you?" Bruce asked now.

"I d-don't kno-o-ow," he was getting upset again.

Livia spoke up for the first time since this strange interrogation began. "He doesn't know his name or his age? How can he not at least know his name?"

If the child had been injured or traumatized, he might not remember either answer. But that only made Dick's desertion all the worse. Bruce ignored the woman's questions. This was looking bad enough as it was.

"Calm down," Bruce crooned. "That's okay. We can figure that out. But I need you to do me a favor first. Can you do that?"

"M'kay."

"Can you unlock the door for me?" Bruce asked him.

After a few seconds, the door handled jiggled just a little.

"I can't reach it," the boy complained. "I don't feel good."

"Do you feel sick?" Bruce might need to get him to a hospital if he was sick or hurt.

"I feel bad . . . and sticky."

 _Sticky_? "Sticky, how?"

Sniffling. "I have a boo-boo."

 _Shit_ . . . He needed to get in there. Too much time had been wasted already. Had he known this earlier, Bruce wouldn't have wasted this much time interrogating the child. But he couldn't risk kicking the door down. The superintendent and the neighbors would follow him in and if Dick had left any of his Nightwing paraphernalia out where it could be seen . . .

"Hang on, chum," Bruce told him. "I'm coming to get you."

He spun around to face his audience. "I'm going to climb up the fire escape and enter through a window," he announced.

"You're not going to break it, are you?" Horowitz asked worriedly.

Bruce frowned at him. "No. The building's old. Windows in a place like this, unless they're painted shut, can easily be jimmied for the outside."

Frank looked at his super, alarmed. "What? Is that true, Horowitz? Could someone get into our apartments and murder us in our beds because you're too damned cheap to buy new windows?"

"Windows aren't cheap, you know!" Horowitz denied defensively.

But Bruce was no longer listening. He was running down the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, leaping the last few altogether. He didn't care at this point how much noise he made. There was a child in his missing son's apartment that was either sick with a tummy ache or, what was becoming increasingly likely, he had been injured badly enough that he was bleeding. And he had been in there alone for at least two hours already. That bastard, Horowitz, worried more about the building than its inhabitants.

* * *

He shoved his way back outside into the cold March chill. It hadn't been all that warmer inside the hallways. The upper floors were only warmer than the lower floors marginally at best. _This was where Dick had been living all this time_? _Or . . . No_! _Hector said he met Dick the day he moved in a week ago_.

The question of where his son had been sleeping for the past two and a half weeks flitted through his mind briefly but that thought was swept away as Bruce reached the side of the building where Dick's apartment faced. He leapt first onto a wooden crate, then onto the dumpster, and then jumped up to grab the bottom rung of the ladder to the fire escape. He began climbing as soon as the ladder lowered in his reach.

Bruce raced upwards until he reached the fifth floor. Moving over to one of the windows, he peered in as he pulled out a credit card. A bare mattress with a tattered blanket sat in the middle of the floor and Bruce could see at least one of Dick's escrima sticks from here. Just beyond was a lump of black and blue that Bruce recognized as the top to his son's new uniform. Dark spots littered the floor that _could_ be blood or, hopefully, were stains leftover from previous tenants.

If Dick left his apartment, he did so as himself, but the mess he left of his gear spoke clearly that his son hadn't been himself. This was a rule that was never crossed unless you were physically incapable of doing so. _So, why had he done so now_?

Bruce discovered that the window had been left unlocked. _Had Dick left it open on purpose or had forgotten to lock it behind him_? _Did the child distract him_? Bruce slid the window open now and stepped carefully into the room. He could hear the occasional sniffling and whimper of the child more clearly now.

"Hello? I'm here," he announced. "It's Bruce. Do you remember talking to me through the door?"

He picked up the escrima stick, noticing immediately the modifications that had been made to it. It held prongs on both ends as a means of conducting electricity . . . His fighting sticks were stun guns! Impressive. There hadn't had a chance to see what new gadgets and weaponry that Dick had designed for himself when he visited the Batcave but this was an admirable improvement. Bruce placed it into the open closet as he passed by and heard a clang as it bumped something metallic. He came to the gloves next as he moved towards the open door to check the bathroom. Bruce glanced in as he picked up the top to the new costume.

There was a small puddle of blood in the middle of the room. Not especially serious if it came from an adult but too much should it have come from a very young child. The boy wouldn't be talking or walking about had it come from him. This came from Dick. The large, bloody handprint seemed to confirm this; next to it was another handprint much smaller in size. The uniform's tights lay bunched nearby, both it and the top were heavy with blood.

Bruce turned from the scene, examining Dick's costume as he went. It included some light armor and . . . His fingers found the numerous tears, including one in the side, above Dick's ribs, that still held the stench of gunpowder and blood. Bruce decided that he would need to bag them. He couldn't leave them or any of Dick's Nightwing stuff here, just in case Horowitz became too curious as to what had gone on his here.

Dick had obviously fallen and lain here for a time but where had the child come from and why had Dick left him behind?

Bruce had only been inside for a minute or so but the child hadn't answered him yet. As frightened as he had sounded, Bruce had almost expected the boy to have come running to him at the sound of his voice but perhaps he was hiding. Children had a tendency to hide when they were scared. Bruce stepped into the main living space and scanned the room.

"Hello? Where are you?"

The boy wasn't visible but there weren't many places that he could hide in an apartment this empty. There was an old, green couch sitting in the middle of the floor that should have been gracing the dumpster rather than his son's apartment. A small, scratched table with two mismatched chairs sat near the opening to a miniscule kitchen bump-out. Bruce stopped to open several cabinets and even the refrigerator for the boy. No food to speak of, he noted, just old take-out. The milk expired today.

The money that Alfred admitted to giving Dick must have gone into this place and, he suspected, toward his night life. _Had the boy not left himself anything for food_? Bruce hadn't expected Dick to feel this strongly about crime-fighting, that he would give everything he had to it, even to his own detriment. Bruce decided that he would need to rethink his position on this. Dick's dedication deserved his respect.

What had Alfred said to him recently? Oh, yes, he remembered . . . ' _You haven't cornered the market on crime-fighting, Master Bruce. The boy obviously has his own mission_.'

He turned back to the living area.

"You can come out now, chum. I won't hurt you. I'm here to help."

He tracked the sounds of whimpering to a slender door Bruce suspected was used as a linen closet or pantry. He opened the door, scanning the empty shelves until he spotted a set of bare toes peeking out at the bottom. His heart clenched.

 _Poor kid_ . . . _He had to be terrified_.

Bruce got down on one knee and peered into the tiny space the boy had managed to wedge himself. The child was wearing one of Dick's undershirts, his legs tucked inside for warmth. It was stiff with dried blood. He held his hand out to the child.

"Hello there. You said you were hurt. Come out and you show me your boo-boos," Bruce murmured softly. _He's tiny_. . . _No wonder he couldn't reach the deadbolt_.

Eventually little feet slid out from under the shirt and joined the toes. Tiny hands and arms held themselves out in invitation. Bruce took the hands and helped the child to climb out of his hiding place. Shiny, black hair . . . a bit too long, Bruce noted. The boy needed a haircut.

When the boy stood up, Bruce guesstimated his age to be around three or perhaps four, if he were small for his age. Bruce tucked a finger under his chin so the child would look at him and found himself staring into a pair of familiar cerulean-blue eyes.

 _Dick's eyes_! The thought startled him. _Not possible_! That would have made his son sixteen, maybe even as young as fifteen when this child was born! Dick hadn't begun dating until his sixteenth year, when girls had become at least as important to him as being Robin and, he claimed, that he could take them out on his own without having to be driven around by the family butler.

Bruce studied the child's face for a moment, searching out any hint of the mother in his features but the toddler was an exact replica of his father . . . _of Dick_! _Why didn't he tell me_?

Bruce shook his head. Clearly, Dick hadn't known about the boy until recently and, what with their own falling out, Bruce was positive that Dick wouldn't have wanted to risk the potential explosion that would have likely followed his confession. But if there had been an explosion, there would have been no fallout afterward, Bruce felt certain of that. He might have been upset and disappointed initially but he wouldn't have remained angry; he knew for a fact that he would never have blamed this little boy for the accident of his birth.

The shock was wearing off and Bruce felt a wave of emotions bombarding him on all sides, guilt being the greatest of these. This was his fault. He had failed to impart the correct amount of stress on the need to be careful, to protect himself and the young woman he had been with. If Bruce hadn't been so busy, he might paid more attention to Dick's life outside of the mission; he might have become aware of the relationship that had produced . . .

The boy's face was bruised.

Bruce blinked. There was a cut beneath the child's left eye, his cheek smeared with blood. That had been close. He might have lost the eye if he'd have been struck a mere inch higher. Alarmed by what he was seeing, Bruce tugged at the neck of the shirt and spotted more bruises. He pushed the sleeve up, gaping at the mottled black and blue marks of a recent beating.

"Who hurt you?" The question came out harshly and he instantly regretted it when the child tried to pull away from him.

Bruce breathed in and out, slowly. The boy was clearly traumatized but his relationship to Dick meant that the hospital was out of the question. Not until Bruce had discovered the answers to this puzzle and found his son . . .

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you. I was just upset from seeing your injuries," Bruce explained.

"My boo-boos?"

Tears swam in those blue eyes and they reminded Bruce of the boy's father shortly after Dick had come to the manor. The resemblance was uncanny for all that the child was younger than Dick had been when Bruce had first met him. The stained shirt reminded him that there were more serious boo-boos that needed to be addressed.

"Can I see where the blood on your shirt came from?" he asked gently.

The boy looked down and plucked at the shirt. "I messy?" He crinkled his nose. "Sticky!"

"We'll get you cleaned up; don't worry," Bruce soothed. He tugged the shirt up and off of him as he assessed the boy's condition.

He was naked beneath the shirt. Bruce wondered where his own clothes were. The bruising and some scratches lined the left side of the boy's body. A deep gouge had been cut along his ribs which explained the blood but, Bruce noted with relief, that it was clotting on its own. He turned the boy around carefully and saw traces of scrapes along his shoulder and hip on the right. Dirt was still buried in the painful red scratches left behind from sliding along something rough – gravel, maybe, or asphalt? _Dear God_! _What had happened to him_?

Bruce took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom where he found another clean undershirt. He dropped it over the child's head. There wasn't much he could do here. He needed to get the child back to Gotham. Leslie and Alfred could determine the boy's injuries far more ably than Bruce could. He set the boy on the mattress and wrapped him up in the ratty blanket.

"Warmer?" he asked, tapping the child on his nose.

The boy nodded and smiled at him, and Bruce's heart melted. He still needed to find out what happened to Dick but, for now, Bruce would do his best to take care of Dick's son.

"Who're you?"

"I'm Bruce. I spoke to you through the door before," Bruce told him. "Do you remember your name yet?"

"Huh uh." He shook his head, as his face crumpled. "I don't know."

"Sh, it's okay. We'll figure things out. I have a way back at home to find out who you are," Bruce assured him. "Now then, I need to gather a few things," Bruce told him as he moved around, picking up all the remnants of Dick's night life. "And then I'm going to take you for a ride in my car. Do you like cars? I have a big, black one that makes a growly noise when it runs."

"It g-growls?" the boy asked tentatively. He was still scared but now that he was warming up, he was getting bolder.

"Like a giant bat," Bruce grinned at him over his shoulder.

"Bats growl?" His blue eyes widened.

"My bats do," Bruce teased with a wink.

"Are they mean bats?" The boy asked worriedly.

"Never to nice little boys like you," Bruce reassured him. "Only to bad people."

He found a duffle bag. Bruce wasn't sure where Dick hid his Nightwing equipment and he didn't plan to search for it now, so he stuffed the escrima sticks, his mask, and uniform into the duffle. He would take them back to the cave and see if he could determine from the evidence left on them what might have happened to his son. He found a metal box just inside the closet door but couldn't determine its significance. It was too bulky to fit in the duffle, so Bruce would leave it behind.

He stopped long enough to clean up the blood and tossed the towels in a garbage bag. They would need to be thrown away. He shoved them on top of Dick's costume and zipped the duffle shut. Bruce stood and looked around both rooms for anything else the might tell him what he needed to know and for any incriminating evidence that a landlord might think suspicious. He eyed the door to the apartment. He would prefer to have just left through the window but he knew that the superintendent was waiting in the hallway.

He sighed. There was no help for it. He would have to address the man.

"I'll have to come back here later," he told the boy, picking him up as he threw the duffle over his other shoulder. "But for now, you're coming with me. Is that alright with you? Do you trust me?"

Huge blue eyes stared at him as the child nodded solemnly. _He trusts me_. Bruce smiled in response, determined he would do whatever was required of him in order to deserve that gift.

Bruce opened the door and was met, not only Horowitz, but by the neighbors who had remained up; all of them curious as to what was occurring in the apartment. Instead of stepping out, however, Bruce confronted the man.

"My grandson," Bruce introduced the boy as. He didn't want there to be any question as to why he was taking him away. He winced inwardly at as the four caught a glimpse of the boy's bruised face. "I'm not sure what happened since my son was not present. There is evidence that he had been injured as well. I can only assume that his confusion led him to leave the boy behind. Should he return before I can find him, please contact me right away." He met Horowitz' gaze. "You can use the number Dick left with you."

"The child . . .?" Horowitz asked hesitantly.

"Left here by his mother," Bruce improvised. "Does Dick owe you for anything?"

Taking a breath, Horowitz drew himself up. "He's paid up for three more weeks."

Bruce nodded. "Someone will be by before then, either to pay for another month or to collect his things. In the meantime, I will be locking the door from the inside and exiting the apartment the way I entered it."

Livia had been making faces at the child but paused when she heard that. "Through the window? Will that be safe with a toddler?"

Bruce smiled at the child as he pulled the edge of the blanket over this head, tucking the edges securely so that only the boy's face peeked out.

"Completely. Snug as a bug in a rug, aren't you, chum?" He teased.

"Bug," The boy said loudly. He stopped and looked at Bruce seriously. "Bats eat bugs?"

"Not _my_ bat," Bruce murmured quietly, "and not _this_ bug."

He chucked a playful finger under the child's chin causing him to giggle. The women melted and cooed. Even Horowitz and Frank smiled at the sound, apparently forgetting how disturbed they had been over the boy's crying earlier.

"Thank you for contacting me. I'll be in touch," Bruce told them just as he closed the door in their faces. He locked both the door lock and the deadbolt. Dick should have the key for it if he didn't choose to return through the window.

* * *

"Let's go for a ride," he told the boy as he exited onto the fire escape. The cold air made the boy shiver and he tucked his face into Bruce's neck for extra warmth.

Bruce noted that the three would-be muggers had cleared out. He suspected they were currently awaiting their turn at the emergency room. No one accosted them as he headed back to the alley where he had left the Batmobile.

He heard the voices before he saw them as he neared the alley.

"I told you he was here, didn't I?" the first voice said excitedly.

The second voice was more confused. "Why would the Bat come to the 'Haven?"

"How should I know? But that's his ride, man," the first voice argued.

It was too cold and too dangerous to wait here until the men left . . . or tried the security system and shocked themselves into oblivion. Bruce reached into his pocket and started the car remotely, revving the motor in a threatening manner.

"Holy shit! You mean to tell me he's been in there this whole time?" the second voice yelped.

"Let's get out of here!" The first voice was accompanied by the sounds of stumbling and then the rattling of the chain link fence at the back of the alley.

Bruce waited for silence to return and then another minute to be safe. "Ready?"

The boy nodded, big-eyed. "Is the bat growling? It eat me?"

"No, chum. It's perfectly safe," Bruce told him as he disarmed the security system and opened the door. "It's going to give us a ride home."

He hesitated, considering. The child had no car seat. Making the decision, Bruce climbed into the passenger seat with the boy in his arms. He would send the car home by remote and hang onto the boy for the trip. He had just settled in as a thought occurred to him. He looked down at the child in his arms.

"Um, you don't need to go to the bathroom, do you?"

"Huh-uh," the boy answered, squirming a bit. The blanket fell from his head.

Bruce breathed a sigh of relief. "Right. Okay then," he lowered his voice slightly out of habit when he spoke to the car. "Home," he ordered as he turned on the heat.

"My home?" the child asked, craning his head back to look up at him.

"It is now, chum," he assured him, pressing his lips to the top of the boy's head. "It is now."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **It's going to take a while I think for Bruce to figure out what's going on. ;D (No one had ever been de-aged before this incident in this AU, btw, so it isn't the first thing to go through a person's head when there are other more reasonable explanations. But I have trust in Bruce. ;D )**

 **I think Hector is going to be a favorite character. He came to me fully-fleshed out with an attitude to match his outrageous fashion sense and provides some much needed humor.**

 **Don't forget to review and let me know what you think of this chapter!**


	6. Impossibilities

**Warning: Language . . .**

* * *

Bruce grimaced in discomfort as he climbed out of the car with the sleeping child. The boy had started the trip nervous and agitated, squirming and asking questions about bats and his car. He had ended it curled into Bruce's arms, asleep, once he began to feel safe and warm. He had tried to keep the boy awake but it was late and he kept dozing off until Bruce eventually allowed him to sleep. He could wake him when they reached the cave.

Using the time to search the child's head for some sign of a head wound, Bruce looked for something that would explain his memory loss. He had examined the bruises along his cheekbone and temple and determined they were the results of a fall rather than a punch. The boy had fallen and struck his head, probably on the floor. It hadn't been a substantial injury. The swelling was minor and the bruises light. The boy's eyes hadn't been unevenly dilated, but the memory loss still indicated that there was a possibility he had a concussion.

Alfred was walking toward him from the medical bay. He looked at the bundle in Bruce's arms. The blanket was lying over part of the boy's face.

"My word, so that fellow wasn't lying when he told me about a child," Alfred said as he held out his arms to take the boy.

Bruce shook his head. "No, he was not. Be careful," Bruce warned. "We had a bit of an accident on the way home." The blanket was damp as was Bruce's trousers.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "He's not toilet-trained yet? How old is he?"

"I don't know," he said following Alfred rather than change immediately. "He was confused about that. He couldn't tell me his name either. He has a mark on his temple, though, so maybe that's behind his forgetfulness?"

"I will be sure to check that at once." Alfred assured him reaching for the child.

"As for being toilet-trained, I'm fairly certain that he is. He knew he had to go but couldn't hold it long enough for us to find a secluded spot. He felt bad about it, unfortunately," Bruce told him as they made their way to the medical bay. "It was an accident, however."

Alfred leaned his head in the direction of the changing room. "You might go and change yourself, and clean up. Are his clothes in the duffel bag?"

Bruce lifted the bag in question. "No. I couldn't find any changes of clothes in his size there. This is Dick's Nightwing gear and some bloody towels that will need to be discarded if you cannot work your magic on them. I'll shower and change shortly."

Alfred frowned. "And no sign of Master Richard."

"No. I'm certain that Dick must have received some injury during the course of the evening as well but he wasn't in the apartment when I got there and no indication of where he might have gone. The boy was my priority. He had injuries that needed tending. I couldn't exactly drag him around Bludhaven on a wild goose chase in his condition. Once he's taken care of, I will go back out and see if I can find Dick."

"I can bring up Bludhaven's police reports for you after tending to the child," Alfred agreed.

"Oh, and there is something else you should be aware of," Bruce said as he walked into the medical bay behind the older man.

Alfred was setting the bundled child on the gurney when the blanket fell away from his face. "Oh, good heavens! My word . . ." Alfred stammered in shock.

Bruce heaved a weary sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I swear to God, Alfred, I don't know whether to be furious with him or terrified for him," Bruce lamented as he looked again at the child he strongly suspected belonged to his errant son. "Both, I suspect."

"Th-There really is no doubt when you look at the child, is there?" Alfred asked softly.

"Wait until he wakes up," Bruce warned. "He has Dick's eyes. The exact color and shape, even."

"I would have never guessed," Alfred murmured. "Never in a million years. He never acted as if he were hiding . . . Surely, we would have known . . . Something of this magnitude."

"I don't believe Dick knew." Bruce shook his head. "Not until recently at any rate. He never would have been able to hide something like this from me . . . from _either_ of us, had he known. From what I can tell from the boy's speech patterns, I would place him at three years of age, possibly even four . . ."

Alfred had begun to unwrap the boy from his cocoon, carefully so as to not aggravate any of the child's injuries. The dark circles under his eyes meant the boy had gone without sleep for an extended period of time and increased the older man's concern as to what sort of trauma he had been through. At the moment, though, the child was sleeping deeply with his thumb in his mouth.

"Yes, that would appear to be the case," the butler agreed. "You remembered that yesterday was Master Richard's nineteenth birthday, did you not? This would have made him quite young when this lad was conceived."

"I've been thinking about that," Bruce frowned. "Dick would have had to have been at least fifteen . . ." He winced. "Younger?"

Alfred shook his head. "Oh no, I find that hard to imagine, sir, knowing him as we do."

Bruce nodded slowly. "It _does_ seem impossible, doesn't it, old friend, and yet, here lies the proof." He frowned, hardly believing what his eyes were telling him.

Alfred glanced up, curious. "What are you thinking?"

"Alfred, I'm going to need a fresh blood sample," he stated.

The older man blinked. "A paternity test? I hardly think that would be necessary."

"If there _is_ a mother in all of this, it might give me a clue to her identity . . ."

" _If_ . . .? What do you . . . Ah!" Alfred nodded, catching up to his employer's line of thought. " _A clone_! You suspect this child is Master Richard's clone. That would make far more sense than the boy being his child."

Bruce found a smile. "It does, doesn't it?"

He didn't like imagining Dick being sexually active so early. He had begun to worry, on their way back to the Batcave, about Dick's early exposures to Poison Ivy, and wondered whether her pollen might have contributed to this situation. It had been a concern that Alfred had pointed out to him after Robin had first been exposed to the aphrodisiac dust at the age of thirteen. After that, Batman had kept the boy away from any case he thought she might be involved with, but there were those times that Robin had run into her in the field, when they had stumbled upon the crime already in progress and before either of them had reason to suspect Ivy's connection.

Although Bruce hated to think his son's innocence might have been stolen from him at such a young age, it was the memory of Ivy's pollen that prevented him from simply brushing aside the possibility. But the DNA report should confirm or eliminate the unpalatable theory. He preferred to avoid hasty speculations unless he had physical evidence to support it. Just because something was the most obvious answer, didn't mean it was the right one.

The child whined and shivered in the dank air of the cave as Alfred tugged the last of the damp blanket free and dropped it onto the floor. He frowned, blinking groggily at Alfred. Bruce stepped forward into the child's line of sight in case the boy became frightened being in a strange place.

"Hey, kiddo," he smiled. "We made it home. This is Alfred," Bruce introduced the butler. "He's going to check and clean those boo-boos for you before we take you upstairs."

The boy wasn't completely awake and he sat up, rubbing his bleary eyes. Blinking owlishly, he stared up at Alfred. He glanced back at Bruce and held up his arms. The demand was clear despite not a word was spoken. Once ensconced into Bruce's arms once more, the child laid his head on the man's shoulders and peered curiously at the older man from the safety of his perch.

"There's no reason to be afraid of Alfred," Bruce reassured him. "He's my butler. He's taken great care of me over the years." Bruce met Alfred's gaze, knowingly. "What did I tell you?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow but smiled warmly at the boy. It wasn't hard to do, especially since he looked so much like someone they both loved very much.

"They are quite amazing. Exactly like his," Alfred said, referring to the startling similarities between the child's eyes and Master Richard's. He then spoke kindly to the boy. "I took care of Master Bruce practically since he was born. If you'll let me, I'd like to take care of you, too."

The boy stared at him for a while. Bruce was just about to set him down and ask Alfred to begin anyway when the child's head popped up.

"You be my butter, too?" he asked.

Alfred blinked. It had been a while since he had been exposed to a toddler and he was forced to press two fingers to his mouth in amusement for a second before he could continue.

Then as smooth as silk, he answered. "I would very much like to be your butter, ahem," Alfred cleared his throat, "your butler, young sir."

Bruce was chuckling as he sat the boy back down on the gurney. At Alfred's look, he went straight to defensive. "What? Oh, come on. You have to admit that was pretty cute."

Alfred harrumphed, unoffended, and began his examination. Since the gouge had clotted and was only oozing now, the older man started with the child's head injury. He pulled out a lighted otoscope to look into the boy's eyes to judge pupil reaction, searching for the first indication of a head injury. Bruce knew he should be going to change but his concern kept him stationed next to the gurney. The boy's hand slid over to grab onto two of Bruce's fingers as he struggled to hold still for the examination.

"Well, Alfred? Anything?"

Alfred straightened. "There are other tests to do but so far I see no indication of a concussion. The bruising on the side of the temple and cheekbone isn't especially dark and there is very little swelling at the site of impact. I would guess the he hit his head on the floor as the result of a fall. I'm at a loss as to what this black mark on his forehead is, however. An ink stain, perhaps?"

"That he received the bruise from a simple fall was my conclusion as well but the child cannot remember anything at all. Surely that indicates some sort of trauma, doesn't it?" Bruce asked.

"What you are speaking of is called dissociative amnesia and is extremely rare," Alfred told him. "You are suggesting that, perhaps, as a way of protecting himself from a particular psychological trauma, his brain has chosen to forget everything in his extremely short past."

Bruce frowned. "Is it possible?"

"Anything is possible."

"He's been beaten. That could be why he doesn't remember anything before I arrived," he suggested.

"Yes, there is that, although, the number and shape of the bruising doesn't appear to be consistent with what one might expect from abuse. It is spread haphazardly in only a certain area and only on one side of the body," Alfred observed. "I noted several scratches on his body that are similar to the one on his cheek, although none quite so severe as that. They are too deep to have been made by a human nail. They appear closer to what you would find from an animal attack of some kind."

"Animal?"

"Or fowl, maybe," Alfred theorized. His fingers brushed over the gouge on the boy's side, making the child flinch. "My apologies, young sir. I do not mean to cause you undue pain."

The child whimpered and squeezed Bruce's hand.

"It's okay, buddy," he soothed the boy. "Alfred didn't mean to hurt you. He just trying to help me figure out what happened to you. You still don't remember anything?"

"He is so young that any sort of memory loss is likely to appear devastating," Alfred stated. "What is the last thing you can remember before waking up in the apartment?" he asked the child.

The boy closed his eyes, scrunching his face as he tried to remember. "Black. Flutterbee."

Bruce frowned, confused. "Flutterbee? What is flutterbee, chum? What does that mean?"

The child's face puckered as he became upset. "I don't kno-o-ow," he whined. "You mad?"

"Sh," he hummed. "It's alright. No, I'm not mad. You're safe now. I just don't know what flutterbee means?"

The boy sniffled. Alfred handed him a tissue from the counter but the child merely held it in his hand, so Alfred retrieved it and wiped the boy's nose for him.

"It a noise," he whispered.

The men exchanged glances. A noise? This was a clue but there was not enough information to begin forming a theory as yet. The ones that flitted through Bruce's mind had no logic to them.

"The gouge in his side and the rash embedded with material are the easiest to determine," Alfred continued. "This," he indicated the deep cut between the boy's ribs as he cleaned it as gently as he could, "was from a bullet." He ignored Bruce's startled look. "And this is quite simply road rash. You can tell from the tiny bits of gravel and asphalt here."

Alfred tsked. "You've had a rough evening, child. Tis no wonder that you would choose to forget it."

"Who would shoot at a child?" Bruce growled, and although, he knew of several that were low enough to do just that, all were currently serving jail time or locked up in Arkham.

Pausing in his task, Alfred handed Bruce a piece of gauze stained with the child's blood. "For your test," he said before turning back to what he was doing. "And you might consider going ahead and getting cleaned up yourself as you wait for the computer to analyze it."

Bruce blinked away an odd thought that crossed his mind as Alfred had catalogued the boy's injuries. His gaze traveled briefly to the duffel containing Dick's uniform, but the strange notion was too crazy to be given even a cursory consideration, however, and he dismissed it out of hand.

"What? Oh, right. I'll get started on this." Bruce pulled his hand free of the boy's and bent down to look into his face. "I'll be right back. I'm only going to change clothes and see if I can find out just who you are. You'll be safe with Alfred."

"Don't forget to bring up one of Jason's shirts," Alfred reminded him. "The boy's going to need more than this sheet to keep him warm."

"Right," Bruce nodded. "I'll bring that up first before I hop in the shower. I'll just start the analysis before I go."

* * *

Once finished applying the bandage to the boy's ribs, Alfred helped the child into one of Jason's t-shirts. It was one that Alfred had purchased for him shortly after the older boy had arrived at the manor, so it was high quality, the material heavier even than that of Master Richard's undershirts. Even so, the shirt hung on the toddler to the tops of his feet and the normally short sleeves to the young boy's wrists. The neck of the shirt tended to slide off on one shoulder every time the child moved, but he was warm and covered, and unlikely to trip and fall in it as he must have in Richards's.

Perhaps that was how the boy had bruised his face, he wondered.

The Batcomputer was pinging with an alert. Something big was happening somewhere. He picked up the child to bring with him when Jason stopped in the entryway. His cheeks were rosy and his hair mussed from sleep.

"Master Jason! What are you doing out of bed so early?" Alfred asked. "It's nearly five o'clock in the morning."

The young teen scrubbed the sleep from his face with one arm. "I couldn't sleep. Is Bruce back?"

Alfred lifted an eyebrow but didn't remark. 'Couldn't sleep' was a term in Jason-speak for having a nightmare. They didn't happen too often but when they did, the boy was up for the rest of the night. Alfred could only assume they were quite terrible as Jason preferred to not talk about them.

"Then, perhaps, you might put yourself to good use," Alfred said as he handed the toddler off to the older boy. "Be careful with him, Jason. The child has had a trying evening."

The young teen looks startled even as he settled the little boy on his hip. It is an automatic gesture, accomplished without thought, making Alfred wonder where the older boy had learned the habit. He had been told Jason was an only child.

"The kid's a little young to be training as a Robin, don't you think?" Jason said without thinking.

Alfred gave him a reproachful glare.

"Sorry." Jason tried to look repentant. Alfred wasn't buying it, however.

"I won't be too long. Master Bruce is in the shower and will be out shortly," the butler told him as he walked out of the medical bay.

* * *

Jason and the boy stared at each other for a moment when, suddenly, the teen scowled.

"Hey," he yelled after the older man. "Isn't this my shirt?" When he got no answer, he shot the boy a warning look. "You better not have any accidents while wearing my shirt."

The boy blinked up at him with unnerving intensity. His vibrant blue eyes seemed to miss nothing. Jason wipe his mouth with the back of his wrist, just in case he had been drooling in his sleep.

"What are you looking at? I got something on my face?" Jason asked irritably.

"Who're you?"

"I'm Jason. Who are you?"

His little face scrunched and his chin wobbled. "Don't memor . . ."

"You don't remember?" Jason's eyebrows rose up to his hairline. "How the hell does anyone forget his own name?"

"I don't the hell know," the boy answered back.

Jason's eyes widen in alarm at the child's use of the expletive. There was no way in hell that Alfred or Bruce wouldn't know where the little twerp picked _that_ up.

"Sh! Don't say that! Alfred will get you for it," he warned urgently. _More like get_ _ **me**_ , he thought to himself.

Those big blue eyes got larger. "Alfed eat me?" he asked worriedly.

"What? No! I didn't mean that. I just . . . Well, shit," Jason stammered. He gasped a second later, his mouth dropping open in horror. He hadn't meant to say that!

"Well, shit," the little boy chirped happily. "Shit, shit, shit!"

Jason hurried to set the boy down on the gurney. He stopped the boy from trying to climb down by grabbing his upper arms. In his panic, he didn't notice the slight grimace his grip had caused the boy in reaction.

"No! No, no, no, no, no. That's not a good word! You don't want to say that word," he told the toddler.

The boy squirmed a bit in his grip but stopped at this and tilted his head. "What not a good word? No?"

"No . . . I mean the other word. You shouldn't say the other word."

The younger boy was confused. "The hell?"

"Ah cra -, yes, that one, too, but I meant the other one," Jason told him seriously.

The child tilted his head the other way. "Other one?"

"You know the one," Jason snapped, irritated. The little brat had to be playing dumb. "Don't make me say it again."

But the boy continued to stare at him, clueless. "Again?"

Jason sighed. He looked behind him to check if the coast was clear, then he leaned in and whispered. "Shit. Shit is a bad word."

Clarity lit those blue eyes. "Well, shit bad word?"

"Sh," Jason waved his hands in front the boy's face. "Yes! Don't say it!"

"Alfed eat me?"

"What? No! Who gave you this idea? Alfred won't eat you. He'll just get mad . . ." _At me_!

"Alfed mad at me?" the boy asked anxiously. "He _eat_ me?"

Jason sighed and rolled his eyes. "He won't eat you. He'll just . . . take away your dessert."

"That more bad than eat me?" The boy looked a little skeptical at that.

Jason nodded solemnly. "Trust me, that's the worst! But he'll only do that if you say those words."

"The hell, well shit," the boy said, nodding knowingly.

"Sh! Stop it! You're going to get both of us in trouble," Jason told him. "God! Where the hell did Bruce find you?"

The toddler threw his hands over his mouth and stared at Jason in shock. It was then the older boy realized what he said.

"Ah, crap! Now see what you made me do?" he snapped.

"Ah, crap. I sorry. Jason eat me now?"

"I ought to," Jason scowled at him. "I really ought to . . ." He repeated with a smirk. He eased the child on his back and then pretended to munch on his belly. "I'm gonna eat your belly, nom, nom, nom!" He made smacking sounds.

The child squealed and started giggling. After a minute of this, Jason straightened, grinning, as he helped the boy sit up again. The boy held a hand against his side but was smiling.

"Jason no mad?"

The teen shrugged his shoulders. "Not anymore. I just ate you up." When the child laughed, Jason did, too. "I wonder where you got that idea?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders like Jason had but winced, whimpering a little. "Ow," he cried out, but then huffed and looked resigned.

"What's up with you? Alfred said you had a rough time last night."

"I got boo-boos," the boy sighed.

"I see the ones on your face. How'd you get that?" Jason asked as he traced the area just below the scratch under the child's eye.

"Don't know."

Jason blinked, considering the boy in front of him. Curious, he looked at the shoulder that was peeking out of the neck of the t-shirt. A bandage covered a large section of the shoulder and a portion of the shoulder blade. He wondered who would ever want to hurt this kid. The boy's big, blue eyes melted even his heart, and Jason didn't even like kids.

"Does it hurt a lot? I wonder if Alf gave you anything for pain?"

" _Alfred_ did not," the man in question re-entering the room. "The boy has a head injury. Although I didn't detect signs of a concussion, I preferred to not risk medicating him until after I observed him for a time."

Jason frowned. "That seems kind of mean, doesn't it? If there were no signs of concussion, why not give him something to take the edge off? He's just a little guy."

"Indeed, Jason. He is at that," Alfred told him. "As such, some of the symptoms may differ in him than in an adult and, since he was not complaining overmuch, I preferred to err on the side of caution."

"So, who is he? Where did Bruce find him?" Jason asked as the boy tried to climb down from the gurney and explore. He blocked the boy's way. The stone floor was cold and the kid had no socks.

"We do not know his name as yet but we have a few ideas about who he is."

Jason picked him up but Alfred extended his arms to take the child. The teen passed him over without complaint. He didn't like kids anyway.

The toddler patted Alfred's face gently to gain the man's attention.

"M'sorry," the boy said, sadly. "You no eat me fo dessert?"

Jason paled and facepalmed.

"Good heavens, child! Whatever made you say a thing like that."

"Cuz I say 'well shit'," the boy confessed. "And 'the hell'."

Alfred blinked and then sent a disapproving glare in the teenager's direction. Jason groaned.

"It was an accident, Alf! I swear," Jason scooted around to the far side of the gurney to be on the safe side. "It just slipped out and then the kid started repeating it. I was trying to explain to him that it was a bad word and it would upset you."

"Hm. And did you also tell him I would ' _eat_ ' him should he say them?"

"No!" Jason shook his head rapidly, "No, he came up with that all on his own. _Honest_!"

The boy looked back and forth between them and said solemnly. "'Well shit' a bad word."

"Yes, it is, child, and we do not speak it in this house." Alfred covered the child's lips with a finger. Those familiar blue eyes regarded Alfred seriously. It was still a little unnerving to him how like Master Richard this boy seemed.

"You mad?"

"Certainly not," Alfred assured him. "Not if you are truly sorry and promise to never speak them again."

"I not," the boy promised, patting his chest. "Pomise."

* * *

Bruce walked in at that point, rubbing his hair with a towel. He wore a gray, long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of black sweats. He nodded to Jason, already understanding the reason the boy was up so early without explanation.

"You're not what, chum?" Bruce smiled at the boy as child held his arms out to be taken. Bruce obliged and settled the toddler on his hip.

"I not say 'well shit' no more," he told Bruce seriously. "Jason say 'well shit' a bad word! And . . . and 'the hell', too!"

"Jason said all that, did he?" Bruce sent the teen an annoyed look and threw his damp towel at the older boy's head. "Well, he would know, wouldn't he?"

"Alfed no eat me," he continued. "Jason eat me. It tickled!"

Bruce's smile came back. "Did it?"

"Uh huh," the boy nodded, getting excited. Then he paused. "Bwooce mad? Bwooce eat me?"

"No, I'm not mad with _you_ ," Bruce clarified. " _Jason_ might be another matter," he added, sending the older boy another glare as he made his way over to the DNA sequencer. The analysis had just completed and the results were being printed.

"You eat Jason?" the child asked curiously. He giggled, and Bruce had a hunch that the boy might enjoy seeing that happen.

"Not at the moment," Bruce told him. "Maybe later, though." He chucked the child under the chin, playfully.

"Sir," Alfred interrupted. "The Batcomputer had an alert a few minutes ago."

Bruce glanced back at him as he made his way into the main cavern to insert the result into the computer and see if there was a partial match anywhere. He fully expected to see Dick's chart to pop up as a result, either as the boy's father or a complete match if the boy was Dick's clone as he now strongly suspected.

"Something in progress?" he asked.

Bruce did not want to go back out tonight for an emergency. He needed to discover who this child was and he was worried about Dick disappearance. He planned to search hospital and police databases to see if anyone bearing Dick's description had been admitted or processed. If nothing came up on his wayward son, Bruce would head back to Bludhaven again, this time to initiate an investigation into what might have happened to him and track him down.

"No, sir, it apparently happened sometime around midnight," Alfred admitted. "But it is something that you should have a look at. The reports are most upsetting and as it _did_ occur in Bludhaven . . ."

Bruce swiveled in his chair. "Bludhaven? And it popped up on the Batcomputer?"

"The city requested help from the Gotham police department. They declared a state of emergency."

Jason leaned against the wall and listened in quietly so that Bruce wouldn't decide he needed to go upstairs. He did on occasion.

"Is this something that might have lured Dick from the apartment?" Bruce asked.

"Most certainly, I'm afraid, but surely not without his costume."

"You said it happened around midnight? Was this before or after you were called by the building's superintendent?"

Alfred blinked. "Ah, I believe before. Are you thinking that this might be connected to our situation?"

The Batcomputer beeped; its search complete. It hadn't take any time at all. Bruce pulled up the results and there it was, just as he suspected, a match: Richard Grayson, 100% DNA match.

"I knew it. The boy's his clone! He must have somehow discovered the child's existence and gone after him," Bruce said.

Alfred didn't look entirely convinced. "Sir, have you had the opportunity to look at Master Richard's uniform since returning to the cave?"

"No, why?" Something fluttered at the back of Bruce's mind. "I gave them only a brief examination at the apartment before packing them. What is it? You suspect something?"

Alfred hesitated. "I looked them over briefly. It seems impossible. I'm certain it could only be a coincidence."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. The idea in the back of his brain that wouldn't go away grew in strength and stature.

"The damage to the uniform . . ." His gaze dropped to the dark-haired boy that so resembled his son. "It matches the boy's injuries, doesn't it? What are the chances that a nineteen-year-old and a three-year-old would sustain identical injuries on the same night?"

"Improbable. These exact injuries? Alfred murmured, nervously. "The odds are likely astronomical."

Jason spoke up. "What are you two talking about?"

Bruce turned to the teenager, barking out an order. "Jason, bring me a fingerprinting kit, now!"

Jason startled by the harsh order, took off after the kit at a run.

"What are you doing, Master Bruce? You know as well as I that it isn't possible!"

"Is it not, Alfred? You brought up the matching injuries yourself," Bruce challenged.

"Coincidence," the older man insisted. "It cannot be anything other than a coincidence."

"There is one way to find out," Bruce said as he took the fingerprinting kit from Jason when the teen stopped beside him. "Fingerprints are not derived from DNA. If that were the case, then identical twins would share the same fingerprints and we know that is not true. If this child is Dick's clone as we suspect, no matter if he shares the exact same DNA, the fingerprints won't match!"

Jason looked confused. "You think the kid is a clone? Of who?"

"Of whom, Master Jason," Alfred corrected, absentmindedly.

"Fine, of whom? You think it's this guy you're talking about, Richard Grayson?"

Bruce ignored Jason's inquiry as he prepared the kit. He sat the boy on the working station. "This won't hurt a bit, chum. This is kind of like finger-painting."

He coated the boy's index finger and then placed it carefully on the sheet, rolling it from one side to the other. The child watched, fascinated, but was disappointed when no other pictures were made. Alfred was there, before the boy could stick his finger on the instruments or in his mouth, wiping it with a moist towelette as Bruce scanned the print into the computer's database.

Alfred picked the boy up and walked over to Jason as they waited. It wasn't long. Seconds, really, and the screen popped the child's fingerprint on one side and its match on the other. Each identifier was clearly marked on both prints; there was no doubt.

Bruce shook his head in disbelief. Alfred was stunned and in his shock allowed the boy to slide down onto the cave's floor when his grip on him loosened. The child stood beside the older man, leaning against his leg, his thumb having tucked itself into his mouth at some point. The child's eyes were drooping again.

Bruce walked over and squat down in front of the boy. His big hands were gentle as he cupped the sleepy boy's face. One thumb swept over the unmarked cheek. Knowing he had struck this face nearly a month ago sent a stab of regret through his chest. But, thankfully, no sign of that day remained on that baby-soft complexion.

What the evidence was telling him didn't seem possible! It couldn't be real but Bruce had taken the print himself and the computer didn't lie.

 _But how_?

" _Dick_? Son, is that really you?" he asked the child softly, searching for some indication that the boy he had raised was in there. "Do you know who I am?"

His son's blue eyes stared up at him with a sweet innocence that hadn't been reflected there, he knew, since before the boy's parents had been murdered. That amazing cerulean-blue, that Bruce had never seen on another person, was surrounded by thick lashes so dark that it looked, at first glance, as though the child was wearing eyeliner.

The tiny toddler pulled his thumb out of his mouth in order to answer him.

"Who Dick?"

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Please?**

 **It took him a little while simply because it seemed impossible . . . Oh, and thank God, Dick has his name now. ;D All of that "boy" and "child" stuff what driving me nuts.**


	7. Jealousy

**WARNING: STRONG Language . . .**

* * *

" _You_ are," Bruce answered. "You are Dick Grayson. You don't remember anything at all?"

The child shook his head. Eyelids drooping, he was quickly losing interest in what the man was saying. His thumb went back into his mouth, his finger across the bridge of his nose as he began sliding down to the floor. Bruce scooped him up before he landed. Dick laid his head on his shoulder and sighed, eyes closing at last.

"The poor lad's exhausted," Alfred noted, stepping close to rub a hand on the boy's back. "I'll head upstairs to ready a room for him. Shall I take Master Richard with me?"

 _It was Dick_! It was his son come back to him, but as a child even younger than he had been when Bruce had first taken him in. The stress and worry over the past couple of years, the fear for him from the last month, all eased in that moment. For whatever reason he had been turned back into a child, Dick was at least safe for the moment and . . . _home_.

Thinking that his nineteen-year-old would have never consented to cuddling, Bruce found he was loathe to give him up, even to Alfred. He had no idea how temporary this change was or if it was a permanent thing. Better to hold onto him while he could. Bruce shook his head.

"No. He's fine. Leave him with me," Bruce murmured softly so as to not disturb his boy's rest. "Put him in his old room for now."

Alfred nodded, his eyes knowing, before turning away. He paused to look behind him. "Master Jason. Do you wish to accompany me or do you wish to stay down here with Master Bruce?"

Jason was gaping at seeing Batman cuddling the child like he was some kind of precious gift from the stork. He shook his head vigorously. "What? No way! I want someone to explain this to me, like right now!"

He stormed over towards Bruce and glared at the child. The kid looked even younger and more innocent asleep than he did awake!

"Who is that?" he demanded to know loudly, ignoring the shushing sounds the two men were making. "Who is Richard Grayson?" he asked, pointing at the name on the computer screen. "You act like this kid is your long-lost child or something! You act like he's . . ."

Suddenly, Jason paled and stepped back.

"Wait! Th-That's him, isn't it? That kid is that guy who came here last month! Nightwing, he said his name was. The first Robin! _That kid is the first Robin_?" Jason stared at the sleeping child in shock.

"Yes, he is," Bruce said.

Bruce headed back towards the computer and Jason followed him. Alfred hesitated by the stairs, wondering if he should intervene before deciding to leave it for his employer to handle.

"B-But you punched him! You told him to get out!"

Bruce flinched, actually flinched! "That was a mistake," he said quietly. "That never should have happened."

"So, what? Are you just going to take him back in, just like that? Shouldn't, you know, return him to his parents? I mean, you can't just keep him!"

"Actually, yes, I can," Bruce answered. "Dick's parents are dead. Alfred and I are the only family he has."

"Maybe Social Services . . ."

"Jason, stop."

"But . . . you don't even like him anymore," Jason pointed out, a little desperately.

Bruce turned back to face him. "Whatever troubles we've had in the past, they would have been resolved eventually. There _is_ no problem that could make me turn my back on him while he is helpless . . . and _you_ would not respect me if there was."

Jason was pacing, throwing his arms up in the air. "But he's like a _baby_!"

"Yes, he is," Bruce agreed, sitting down at the computer station. "And that means he needs us more now than ever before. Jason, I don't know what happened to him, but I will care for him until it has been undone and he can manage it himself." Pressing a few keys, Bruce brought up the police reports that Alfred had told him about. It might give him a clue as to what Dick had been up to prior to his being turned into a child.

"How long will _that_ be?" Jason asked, scowling at this change his world had taken.

He pivoted in the chair to look at his newest ward. "It will be for as long as is necessary," he told the teen.

Jason stood there and stared, incredulous. "But . . . What if the change is permanent and he can't be changed back? That could be forever!"

Bruce nodded. "If necessary, then yes. But forever is a long time, Jason. I would say fourteen or fifteen years would be a more reasonable expectation," he told him as he returned his attention to the matter at hand.

" _Are you fucking **kidding** me_?" Jason yelled.

Dick startled at the sound. Taking a stuttering breath, the child lifted his head slightly before lowering it again. He snuggled, tucking his face into the curve of Bruce's neck. The boy sighed and resumed sucking his thumb, his exhaustion ensuring that he remained, for the most part, undisturbed.

"You will watch your language, young man. Now, if you wish to remain down here, you will not wake him up." Bruce swung around and glared at him. "Am I understood?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." Jason glared at the boy even as he shrugged his shoulders. "So, what do you think happened to him?" he asked sullenly.

"At the moment, I have no idea. I've never even heard of such a thing. I had no idea that age-reversal was remotely possible," he told him and sighed. "I'm hoping that scanning these reports will shed a little light on whatever happened in Bludhaven last night and provide us with some a clue as to who, or what, might have caused this." Bruce said, turning his attention back to the screen in front of him.

After bringing up a Bludhaven news station, Bruce patted the boy's back lightly and spoke to the child in a soft voice. "Don't you worry, Dickie. I'm going to fix this for you, chum."

* * *

Bruce grew silent as the reports came up on the screen and the news people began talking about some major event. Normally, Jason would read the reports over the man's shoulder but, this morning, he sulked instead. He couldn't believe that little kid was the first Robin _and_ the guy who came in here and humiliated him in front of Batman. Looking at the kid now, cuddling and sucking his thumb, Jason rolled his eyes. _Just figures the guy would be a thumb sucker_.

He scowled. _How the hell does something like this even happen_? _God, growing up is hard enough the first time around. To think you just get childhood licked and are about to get a little respect and BAM_! _Some asshole waves a wand or something at you and you have to start all over again_.

Annoyed, Jason leaned against the wall. _Dick Grayson, heh_! _The nickname fit_ , the teen thought uncharitably, although he was pretty sure when it was given to the kid it probably didn't mean the same thing as it did now.

His mind drifted back to when he first met the kid a month ago, before this . . . thing had happened to him. That meeting wasn't nearly as friendly as today's had been. Nightwing, he'd been calling himself then. At least he had grown into some real pants and not that green leotard with the vest.

Jason made a face. He certainly hadn't been making fun of the Robin costume when he had tried it on. He had wanted nothing more than to wear that outfit and those colors, and swing down into a crowd of punks and start knocking heads. He had been improving, too. Bruce had told him that earlier just that day. Jason had been so proud. Getting any kind of praise out of the Bat was like getting water out of a rock. Always with him it was, ' _Again, Jason. Do it again_ ,' or ' _Robin could manage it in half that time. Do it again_ ,' or ' _If you want to earn the right to wear that uniform, you have to do it better_ '.

 _Do it better_ . . . He had been beginning to think that Robin wasn't human or maybe Bruce was remembering the original Robin as being better than he actually was. But looking at the original Robin now made Jason think that maybe he wasn't comparing to him well for different reasons. Maybe Jason would _never_ compare, no matter how good he got . . .

He tilted his head as he watched Bruce's attention being split between reading transcribed reports of the police and the reporter on the news station. The man was just as intent as usual, the scowl on his face just as fierce but . . . he held the three-year-old close, his free hand rubbing circles on the child's back except when he needed to scroll or change the screen. Then, back it would come, even petting the boy's hair occasionally.

Jason's mouth fell open as it suddenly dawned on him . . .

 _He_ _ **loved**_ _him_! Bruce _loved_ Dick Grayson like . . . like he was his own _kid_ or something!

Jason remembered Bruce telling Alfred to put the boy in his old room. _So, that guy used to live here_? _That would explain a lot_. Bruce must have raised the kid himself! If Jason remembered right, Robin had been a little kid when he had started, like nine or ten-years-old, younger than Jason was. _But his name is Grayson, not Wayne, meaning the guy was Bruce's ward, the same as I am now_. _So, how did he come to live here when his folks kicked off instead of going to the orphanage or some foster family?_

Perhaps, the better question was, if Bruce loved him so much, why did he fire him? And why the hell did he hit him and tell him to get out last time he was here? Bruce had never hit Jason yet. Well, not counting sparring but then that was the whole point of the activity, wasn't it?

That night, when Nightwing had left, Jason had breathed a sigh of relief. Only after that, Batman had spun around and yelled at Jason, too.

"Take the costume off! Now, Jason," Batman had barked at him. "You're not ready."

"B-But, you said . . ." Jason had stammered, unsure why Batman was so angry at him. He had told Jason only an hour earlier that he had improved!

Sure, Jason had come back down after being sent upstairs for the night, but they both knew that he was in training to wear this costume and take up the mantle of Robin. So what, that Jason wasn't quite ready for the streets yet! He would be eventually and the costume would be his. Why _couldn't_ he wear it now?

"I don't care what I said," Batman had snarled. "You are not ready for that costume and you will not put it on again until I decide whether or not you have earned the right to wear it."

Jason had been stunned. His disobedience hadn't been over anything actually important! Why had Batman made such a big deal out of it? Jason decided that the only reason Batman was mad at him then wasn't because he snuck back down and put on the suit without permission. It was because the first Robin had come back and made him look bad.

"It's because of _him_ , isn't it?" Jason had snapped back, indicating the path out of the cave that Nightwing had taken. "Because you think _he's_ so much better than me? Is that it?"

"He _is_ better than you," Batman had told him in a low growl. "And everything he said tonight about your performance was correct. So, if you ever want to wear that uniform again, you will start by obeying me this instant."

Batman had stalked toward the Batmobile then, leaving Jason standing there without even a backward glance. Jason's temper blew up and he had begun yelling at the man's retreating back.

"If he's so great, then why'd the hell did you fire him? Huh? If he's so perfect, why didn't you keep him on as your partner? Or was it because **_he_** left **_you_**?"

But the Bat had kept going, climbing into his big, black car.

"If he's so terrific then why the hell did you bother with me?" Jason had screamed at him over top of the roar of the Batmobile. "Why am I here?"

But Batman hadn't answered him that night and Bruce had never brought it up again. Quite honestly, Jason was glad he hadn't. He hated to admit it but he had been afraid of the answers to some of those questions.

Jason's training had become twice as hard after that, lasting each time twice as long. Alfred had noticed and mentioned it but Bruce had said something in reply to the older man that Jason didn't hear. Then, Alfred had turned around and gone back upstairs without another word.

Jason blinked blurry eyes.

Everything had been going so well before that night. Everything had been perfect until _he_ had walked in and screwed everything up! Bruce used to talk to Jason and let him hang out sometimes after training as he researched a case but after that night, no more. Bruce would send him upstairs most of the time as soon as training was done with the orders to do his homework and go to bed, while Bruce would sit at the computer and work on something Jason was never allowed to see. Searching for someone . . . that was all he knew at the time.

Now, it was obvious.

Bruce had been searching for Dick Grayson. Had it been because he suddenly wanted him back as his partner? Jason snorted. Well, now Bruce got him back, for all the good it would do him. No matter how wonderful Grayson was, no matter how perfect a partner, the guy was a three-year-old toddler again and a fucking long way from ever fitting into his old Robin costume.

Jason pushed off the wall and headed upstairs. He didn't hear Bruce's gasp or see him sit up abruptly. He was so angry now he probably wouldn't have cared had he noticed. But the one thing Jason was not, was jealous. He had nothing to be jealous over! His rival was a fucking baby, for Christ's sake!

 _There's nothing the brat could do to beat me now even if he wanted to_ , Jason thought angrily as he stomped up the stairs. _Nothing at all_.

* * *

As Bruce pulled up the police reports, he opened another window for Bludhaven's morning news reports. Normally, like Gotham, the news at this time of day consisted mainly of weather and traffic. This was not a normal day, however.

The reporter in question was a twenty-something blonde with more cheekbone that wit. She looked terrified, he noted, and Bruce leaned back to listen to her report as his eyes scanned the earliest police documents filed.

 **["** ** _There are still no explanations behind the strange deaths that have occurred here overnight in Bludhaven. While there appears to be evidence that foul play may be involved, some type of virulent illness has not been ruled out._**

 **"** ** _The Centers for Disease Control headquarters in Atlanta has been notified and the first officials from the organization have arrived in the city but not yet on the scene. As you can see behind me_** **,"** the reporter indicated with a wave of a shaky hand, **"** ** _it is absolute chaos here but every precaution is being taken as emergency personnel and volunteers are continuing to knock on doors as they check on the welfare of residents throughout the affected area._**

 **"** ** _The death toll, in the meantime, continues to rise every few minutes. So far, the number is up to 387 dead and is expected to keep rising as the morning search progresses. As far as we know, the only survivors are a handful of movie goers and several witnesses that were on the street. Strangely enough, those stricken on the outer edge of the affected area were standing on one side of the street while those on the other side lived through the deadly phenomenon with no apparent side effects._**

 **"** ** _I repeat there are no clues yet as to who the perpetrators, if there are any, are that could be behind this devastating apocalyptic event. Authorities are being mum about any suspects, and, so far, no terrorist organization has claimed responsibility for the horrible tragedy._**

 **"** ** _Gotham City, our nearest neighbor, is assisting police and emergency workers by sending volunteers in to aid in the humanitarian efforts . ._** _._ **"]**

The news correspondent continued on but was merely repeating her previous report.

 _Dear God_ . . . Bruce found he was shaken, himself, by what he was hearing. _Three hundred and eighty-seven people confirmed dead all in an instant_?

He hugged Dick a little closer. Somehow, this 'attack', if it _was_ some kind of attack, was linked to whatever happened to his son. He had nothing yet to go on but his gut instincts but it had seldom proven wrong. This was connected; it had to be! Now, if he could only find the missing link. At the moment, however, he didn't even have enough information to build a working theory.

Bruce read the reports with a growing sense of disbelief. The earliest reports had been nothing but confusion and gibberish. The officers involved had no idea what was happening, why, or who was behind it. They had called in for backup repeatedly without ever identifying the threat. The later ones were hardly any better; reports of large, black birds attacking the men out of nowhere, a woman with feathers in her hair that looked like she had just climbed out of the grave . . . One officer had described her to dispatch as a zombie.

And the officers that had made these early reports were now all dead themselves, victims to whatever had drained the life and vitality from several hundred people already. Interestingly, there was one thing that jump out at him from all the reports filed and that was the _fear_. These men had literally been scared to death!

He winced at the unintentional analogy.

Had it not been for the mention of the woman, Bruce might have been inclined to blame this on Scarecrow but a quick check into Arkham's security tapes confirmed that Dr. Crane was still in his holding cell at the time of the incident.

His eyes strayed to the news reporter again. The sound was off but he could read the subtitles. Thirty minutes more and the death toll was now nearing five hundred people! Five hundred! How had Nightwing survive when so many others had perished?

People dead in their beds, parents and children, singles and the elderly, even their pets were gone! No one had been spared. No one but Dick . . . and wait! One police officer?

Bruce's eyes narrowed as he caught the single reference. A beat cop, Jimmy Li was his name, and this information hadn't been released to the media as of yet. The report he was reading stated that Li's partner had died as the others but Li was found huddling in terror in the back of his patrol car, every single round in his service revolver spent. The officer had been removed from the scene quickly, before the newly-arriving officers had been attacked by the ravens and died as had everyone else.

Bruce glanced at the boy in his arms. Could it be possible for there to have been two separate supernatural events to have taken place in Bludhaven within an hour of one another without some kind of unifying factor? A link of some kind?

He frowned. Why had he thought supernatural? Magic was usually the last place he looked because nearly every event ended up having some basis in scientific advancement. Alien tech, biological weaponry, machines from the future could account for 98% of all unexplainable occurrences. Certainly, he had never heard of a machine, a pill, or a laser capable of reversing the aging process to this extent, at least more than superficially. Dick's transformation, however, was anything but superficial. But just because Bruce hadn't heard of the technology yet didn't mean that it didn't exist.

He just had to find it and figure out a way to reverse the process.

First, he would need to speak with Jimmy Li and find out what exactly had happened to him and his partner.

* * *

Alfred found them exactly in the same position he had left them in. Bruce watching the news as reports of more deaths continued to pour in. He had been watching it upstairs as he changed the sheets and baby-proofed Richard's old room for him. Horrible stuff, that . . . The idea that it could be some airborne contagion! It seemed as though the media had taken an already bad situation and were making it worse by theorizing the cause without being in possession of all the facts. He finally had to turn it off, but he had made certain that the windows were closed and the HEPA filtration system was working to clean the air.

One couldn't be too careful in these situations. Wind direction could change at any time. And if it _were_ airborne . . . better safe than dead, he always said.

As he came up on two of his charges, he could see that Master Bruce's massive arm was now cradling the boy much as one might an infant. The disparity in their sizes had always been apparent but never more than it was at this moment. The child looked so tiny and helpless, and Alfred's heart squeezed in both concern and affection.

"Do you plan to get any sleep?" he asked.

Bruce blinked and stretched carefully so as to not disturb the boy sleeping on him. "I need to go back to Bludhaven."

"To what end, sir? Whatever is happening there cannot possibly be connected to what happened to Master Richard."

"My gut says otherwise, Alfred," Bruce told him. "I have no proof; I've seen no evidence but the answer lies there." He pointed to the screen that currently was showing a swarm of forensic and police and medical personnel rushing about in an effort to identify and collect the remains of victims that still lay in the streets.

"It is past six o' clock in the morning. You haven't slept all night. What could you possibly hope to accomplish there as a civilian?" Alfred scoffs, somehow making the rude gesture seem respectful and genteel.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Fine. You're right. I know, you're right . . . as usual. Call in for me, Alfred. Tell Lucius I'm taking a few days off. Give him whatever excuse seems good to you. Oh, and tell him to check with the city of Bludhaven and see what kind of assistance they need and have Lucius arrange for something on behalf of Wayne Enterprises."

"Of course, sir. Very generous of you," Alfred nodded.

"Necessary, Alfred. This . . . thing, whatever it is, happened on a massive scale," Bruce said. "They're going to need all the help they can get."

"Very good, sir," Alfred agreed. The epidemic or terrorist attack was indeed extensive, taking up, estimates have it, an area approximately a kilometer in size. "Do you think it is some kind of bomb, perhaps?"

"My first guess is some type of alien tech," Bruce admitted, "but the Watchtower reports no indications of any unknown presence within the inner solar system, let alone earth itself. There had been an energy surge that happened at around the same time as this attack but the unknown energy originated here, not space."

"Will the Justice League be offering assistance?" They would need Master Batman should they feel the need to investigate, particularly when the attack was so close to Gotham itself.

"The offer is on the table should they be needed, but so far there had been no indication of radiation or another impending attack. I suggested that they allow me to take the lead on this and call for assistance should I need it." Bruce stood, adjusting Richard in his arms. His lips lifted slightly as he looked down at the sleeping child. "He's hasn't moved at all. He's obviously exhausted."

"Shall I take him now, sir," Alfred offered. "I will put him to bed for you."

Bruce hesitated. "No. No, I'll do it. I'm going up now anyway."

Alfred smiled, knowingly. "He _is_ hard to resist at this age." The boy had been difficult to resist at any age, in the butler's unbiased opinion. "However did his parents manage to raise him without spoiling him rotten, I wonder?"

"We missed so much of his life . . ." Bruce murmured. "I never actually felt jealous of his parents until right this moment."

Alfred raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Poppycock!"

"I beg your pardon," Bruce looked at the man, surprised.

"You heard me quite well," Alfred challenged. "You'll do well to remember that I've live in this house also. I can remember several times finding you standing in his doorway when he first arrived, watching him sleep. You were quite enamored with the boy, then. I believe the same can be said of you now as well. I doubt those feelings have ever changed, even during these last few months."

He turned to lead the way up the stairs to the manor above. "In any case, I took the liberty of childproofing Master Richard's bedroom. It seemed prudent to do so as we do not know for how long he will be stuck in this form. I will ensure that any other rooms we frequent are done as well."

"Yes, I can see that would be wise as he apparently has no memories of his previous life whatsoever. He speaks and acts as the toddler he appears to be." Bruce agreed.

"Also, before turning in myself for a nap, I will contact Dr. Thompkins and ask that she pick up clothing and a few essentials that a child this age might require and drop them by later this morning."

Bruce appeared startled. "Leslie? I thought you said Dick's injuries were superficial?"

Alfred closed the clock over the door to the cave before turning around. "Serious enough, but correct. The child doesn't require further medical attention but Dr. Thompkins can assist us in determining which tests might help us discover the method of the boy's transformation. And we might also avoid the press a little longer if Dr. Thompkins is seen purchasing items for a toddler rather than you or I."

Bruce sighed, nodding. "I must be tired, old friend. I never considered that. He shouldn't need that much. Hopefully, this won't take more than a few days to discover the cause and reverse his condition."

"Well, Master Richard should be safe enough in his room in the meantime," Alfred assured him. "Are you sure I cannot take him for you?"

Bruce pulled to child a little closer. "I-I'd like to do this, if you don't mind. It's . . . been a little while, you understand," he said, without meeting the older man's eyes.

Alfred smiled, pleasure warming his heart. "Of course, sir. It is only fitting, you being the lad's father and all."

Bruce paused, his shoulders stiffening. "I never meant to replace John Grayson in his life, Alfred. That man is still his father. I'm just . . ."

" _ **You** are his father_ , Master Bruce," he corrected him. "You may not share his DNA, but that child in your arms shares his heart with you. He always has. I suspect he always will. Isn't it time you accept that and stop hurting him."

Bruce glanced back at him, startled. "A father's place is sacred . . ."

"Yes. It certainly is." Alfred met the younger man's gaze directly.

He could tell the Master Bruce wanted to argue with him, but however Richard was returned to them, it was an opportunity for seal the rift and heal the wounds they both shared. He had said his piece, now was the time to change the subject to one he had some concern over.

"Sir, if I might inquire . . . How did it go with Master Jason?

"Jason? What about him?" Bruce headed towards the stairs, the soles of his loafer making a soft clacking noise on the marble tiles.

"I was curious as to how he took the news that our newest charge is, in truth, his predecessor. The way I understand it is that their first meeting did not go over very well. Did you explain to him your relationship to your first Robin?" Alfred asked as he fell into step beside his eldest charge.

"He took it as well as could be expected, all considering. I suspect Jason might be feeling a touch of jealousy," he added, remembering the boy's upset before he had left the cave.

"Only a little?" An understatement, to be certain.

"He'll get over it, Alfred," Bruce stated confidently.

The butler wasn't so sure of that. The sound of Jason's door slamming an hour ago had been quite jarring. "Hm," he hummed, doubtfully. "You have quite a bit of faith in the boy's maturity level, do you?"

Bruce looked over at him with surprise. "And you don't?

"Master Jason has had a difficult road to travel in his young life. He has only recently found a bit of security since moving here. I fear he worries that Master Richard's return, particularly while in this form, might usurp his place in your affections."

"Nonsense," Bruce shook his head a bit as he opened the door to Dick's room. Bruce had almost expected a musty smell, it had been so long since he had been in here but Alfred had obviously kept the room aired as part of in his weekly schedule. "I don't think you give Jason enough credit. He will be fine. They both will."

Alfred watched a moment more as Bruce tugged the covers back on the bed. Alfred had removed the pillow, however, as a child so young had no need of one. Master Bruce laid the boy gently on the mattress, making sure that Master Richard was safely centered on the bed. He sat down beside the child in an effort to soothe him when the young sir mumbled and squirmed as a result of the change of going from warm arms to cool sheets.

Leaving the door cracked, Alfred moved back down the hall to make the phone calls. Then he, too, would take what the master would call a power nap before facing what he suspected would be a somewhat demanding day.

"You do not give yourself enough credit either, Master Bruce," Alfred murmured quietly under his breath from his spot by the door. "Those boys love you, sir. You have become their world since entering it but never once have you stopped to realize it," he sighed.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? C'mon, let's hear it!**

 **Yes, Bruce is an ass . . . We all know that. If he wasn't, he wouldn't need Alfred so badly. (But Bruce still has it in him to be a good father . . . If he can pull his head out of his butt long enough to listen to the sage advice of his butler.)**

 **(More adorableness ahead, just as soon as Dickie wakes up.)**


	8. Daddy's Boy

**Warning: Language (1 f-bomb - thanks, Jason) . . .**

* * *

Bruce blinked open his eyes, stifling a groan, before searching out a clock. He might not have bothered except for the fact that he was not sleeping in his room. He was in Dick's old bedroom, meaning that last night had not been a terrible nightmare. His brain stuttered on the word 'terrible'. Holding his boy in his arms in a way never before possible might have been a gift, but he was fairly certain that the nineteen-year-old Dick wouldn't have been nearly as thrilled by his age reversal.

Noon . . . They'd only been sleeping five hours. He took a deep breath. He had survived on far less for far longer. He would not complain but he was curious as to what woke him.

"Bwoose!" A little hand, unaccountably sticky, patted the side of his face. "Bwoose, I need go potty."

 _Potty_? His eyes widened abruptly and he swiveled his head to stare at the child. Dick was kneeling beside him, one tiny hand literally holding back the morning tide. Knowing the boy's bladder control was iffy at best, Bruce leapt to his feet with amazing speed and dexterity despite getting so little sleep.

"Okay, buddy! Hang on! We got this," Bruce said encouragingly.

He scooped the child up in his arms and ran to Dick's en-suite bathroom. He had to set him down a moment to wrestle up the t-shirt he wore and Bruce noted that the boy was too short to manage the deed on his own without a stool. Something else they would need to go about locating as soon as possible. In the meantime, Bruce set him on the seat and remained in place in case the boy needed help.

He had just decided that Dick's balance was still quite exceptional when the boy began to teeter and fell backwards suddenly. Bruce grabbed him before he could drop into the toilet and then set him on the floor.

"Whoa, chum! We like to take our baths in the bathtub," he teased. "Are you finished?"

Dick nodded enthusiastically, slammed the lid, and reached for the handle. Bruce was careful to note that flushing the toilet had great entertainment value for the toddlers.

For all that he hadn't had a full eight hours, the boy seemed full of energy. Bruce brought him over to the sink to help him wash his hands and searched for a comb to put the child's bedhead in order. All in all, though, his hair didn't appear to be quite as untamable as Bruce had remembered it being when he was eight but the activity uncovered the black mark that still remained on the child's forehead.

Bruce wet his thumb and wiped at the mark. It didn't even smear. He found a washcloth and used soap this time to scrub at the spot as Dick attempted to dodge but with no discernable results. _Odd, that_ . . .

"Where did you get that black mark from, Dickie?" he asked, despite being reasonably sure the child wouldn't recollect receiving it any more than he did anything else that had happened before Bruce had found him at his apartment.

Dick twisted around and looked at himself in the mirror. The boy smiled at the child who smiled back at him in the reflection and climbed to his feet. Dick leaned in, placing both hands on the mirror's surface and looked close . . . closer . . . until he bumped into the surface. It was at this point, Bruce realized Dick wasn't concerned with the mark at all as he was with playing with his reflection.

Dick was kissing the glass when Bruce picked him back up. He grimaced at the marred surface with its handprints and nose, mouth, and chin print. He was confident that Alfred wouldn't find the results of the child's discoveries nearly as amusing as Dickie did. Bruce wiped at the smudges with the washcloth, but the prints remained and now the mirror was streaky to boot. He gave up. Bruce knew when to pick his battles.

"I hungry," Dick announced.

"You are? Well, you're in luck because I am, too." Bruce carried the boy out and set him down on the rug.

Dick had no socks or shoes yet, although the morning chill didn't look to affect him greatly. The boy hopped in a circle before spotting the window seat. He made a beeline to it. Bruce followed along and watched him struggle at first but very quickly figured out how to climb up. He was strong for his age, easily able to haul his own body weight onto the built-in bench. Little fingers and face prints immediately streaked the glass as the boy looked out at the same garden scene that had always graced his room's view.

"I thought you were hungry," Bruce reminded him.

"Ooh," Dick exclaimed. "Can I play outside?"

"Only after you eat breakfast and we find you something warm to wear," Bruce told him.

His eyes scanned the window latch. Its lock was basic. He had never bothered to change it despite Dick having escaped through here several times while growing up. The silent alarm system was still attached to it and to all of the windows but the boy's incredible balance and acrobatic skills diminished the risk. It was kind of difficult to argue the danger of climbing out one's window when Robin was leaping from buildings back then on a nightly basis.

This was different, however. Dick wasn't show any indication that he retained his acrobatic skills so far, not that Bruce would ever trust a toddler to scale a building. He tried to judge the strength and determination in those fingers as well as the ingenuity behind those curious eyes. While he might not believe a normal three-year-old could work the lock, Dick had never been what one would call ' _normal_ '. Bruce decided then that something a little more substantial might be in order.

He would talk to Alfred about it at breakfast.

Glancing around the room for something that might warm the boy's feet, Bruce spotted a set of clothes lying on the edge of the dresser. It appeared that Leslie had managed to come through for them while Bruce and Dick had slept. Sure enough, there was a long-sleeved navy shirt with 'Daddy's Boy' written on it in white, a pair of blue jeans, blue and green striped socks, a package of new Underoos, and a pair of tennis shoes with alligators on them.

 _Are those lights_? Bruce scowled at the soles of the tennis shoes.

He made a face at the 'Daddy's Boy'. Leslie's idea of a joke, obviously. He thrust back the twinge of pleasure he got as he help the child into it. Dick's transformation was putting strange thoughts in his head. He needed to keep his mind on the troubles at hand. They were many and they were deadly. He wouldn't do either Dick or Jason any good if he allowed his distraction to get him killed.

"What those?" Dick asked, pointing at the alligators on the sides of each shoe.

"Those are alligators," Bruce answered sliding the tiny foot inside the first shoe.

The boy twisted to better see the reptile as Bruce worked to put the other on. _Thank God for Velcro_ , he thought, finishing up. Once the shoes were on, Bruce held the boy's hand as Dick leapt off of the bed and onto the floor. _Those_ _ **are**_ _lights_! He blinked as the soles flashed a green light on and off like a strobe. Dick noticed the lights as well and began stamping his feet to make them continue.

"Ooh! See, Bwoose?" he squealed with excitement. "I got owigator shoes! See? Look! My shoes light _UP_!"

Bruce chuckled at the funny, little dance he was doing. The boy was completely entertained. There would be no more carrying him anywhere so long as he wore those shoes.

"C'mon, chum. You said you're hungry," Bruce reminded him as he opened the door to the hall.

Dick hopped after him, watching his feet to see the lights, and not looking up until he was out. Then the hopping suddenly ceased as the boy froze. Bruce stopped walking and looked back over his shoulder.

"What's the matter, Dick? Aren't you coming?"

The boy's mouth had fallen open and his eye were huge. The child looked frightened at the intimidating length of corridor. Bruce turned and eyed the expanse in front of them. He had forgotten that, because of his memory loss, Dick had never seen the manor before. He had been asleep when Bruce had carried him up to bed.

Fourteen en-suites lined the hallway; seven on each side, not counting the master suite at the very end of the hall. There was a smaller staircase hidden behind a panel across from Dick's room that had been designed for use by the servants. It remained locked for the most part as Bruce certainly didn't mind if Alfred used the main hallway to travel. But, for the first time in many years, Bruce noticed how long and wide the corridor was to young eyes.

It was wide enough, in fact, for five grown men to walk side by side without brushing the walls. Neither did it have windows, only doors lining either side. Artificial lighting was necessary to rid the gloom near the main staircase and to penetrate the deeper darkness that shrouded most of the hallway. The lights were only turned off at night and, even then, four single sconces remained on but were dimmed. Just enough to get you to your room without miscounting the doors.

He supposed that it did look rather intimidating at that. Even with all the lights on, there were places still left in shadow from the few furnishings along the walls: long side table, the conveniently place chair or cushioned bench, and then there were the suits of armor . . . trophies acquired and brought to the new world by Bruce's great, great, well many-greats grandfather to decorate the jewel of the Wayne family's fortune. There were four along this corridor alone.

When Dick was young, he used to play in the hallway, incorporating the empty suits of armor into his fantasies, all the while using the long expanse to practice tumbling routines he made up on a whim. The armor had made him nervous only until Bruce lifted him up to look inside and then he had told the boy some of the histories behind the knights who were said to have worn the armor into battle or tourney.

Bruce had a feeling it would take a little more than that this time to get the youngster used to the tall, battle suits.

Bruce took a knee, to better look the boy in the eye. "You're not scared, are you?"

Dick was looking at one of the suits as he shook his head in the negative. "Nooo?" he whispered uncertainly.

"Why are you whispering?" Bruce whispered back.

"So, they can't hear us," he said softly.

"They can't hear us, chum," Bruce assured him. "The suits are empty."

Dick leaned closer to him and Bruce bent his head. "Can they see us?"

Bruce smiled and scooped the boy up in his arms and took him to see the closest set of armor. Dick hugged him tighter with every step taken.

"They're empty, Dickie," Bruce told him, lifting the visor up. The boy tucked his head into Bruce's neck, hiding his face. "It's okay, son. You're safe here with me."

Dick peeked back over his shoulder at the suit with squinting eyes, ready to shut them if there turned out to be anyone inside looking back at him.

"See? No one home," Bruce announced and rapped his knuckles on the torso. The bang made the boy jump but Bruce laughed gently. "No one is inside."

Dick stretched his neck but his stranglehold on Bruce's neck remained firm. He blinked, opening his eyes all the way up to see better and then, finally, he let go in order to lean forward and grab the helmet. Bruce had to grab it as well to keep the armor from collapsing into a pile on the carpet. He wasn't positive that even Alfred knew how to reassemble one of these monstrosities.

Dick stuck his nose in the visor in an attempt to look down inside, then he hollered.

"Halloooo?" There was the tiniest of echoes to answer him, making the boy gasp. "He say hi to me!"

Bruce chuckled again. "That's your echo, Dickie. That should tell you the suit is hollow."

Dickie turned, grabbing Bruce's face with both hands and stared at him. "No. He say **_hi_** to me," he repeated in a loud stage-whisper.

"You heard your own voice, chum. That's all," Bruce continued in his normal tone of voice. "I guarantee that all of these suits are empty."

Dick didn't look like he believed him but he didn't argue anymore.

"If you don't tell Alfred, I'll let you run the hallway," Bruce told him. Then as added incentive, he said. "It will make your shoes light up."

The boy's eyes widened again, this time a large grin accompanied it. "Really?"

"As long as you stop at the end before you get to the stairs. Promise?"

Dick bobbed his head in the affirmative. "Pomise," he practically yelled.

"Fine," he said as he set the boy down onto his own feet. "I'll race you."

Not waiting for Bruce to say go, Dick spun around and took off, sprinting as fast as his little feet would carry him. The boy's shoes made the walls light up like an Irish disco. Running after him, he had to shorten his stride so as to not overtake the boy too quickly.

As they neared the end of the corridor, Bruce picked up his pace, grabbing Dick up under his arms and setting him on his shoulders. Better to remove the temptation altogether, he thought, and took the stairs two at a time. Dick squealed and laughed as he bobbed up and down, holding onto the man's hair for security.

As Bruce stepped off into the foyer, he decided that it was a good thing Batman wore a cowl. People would be bound to place him as Bruce Wayne if Batman bore the same bald patches as his civilian identity. He was sure that Dick had loosened two handfuls of strands.

Running down the stairs with Dick holding onto his hair – Not a good idea. Lesson learned.

* * *

Jason and Leslie were sitting at the table chatting when the two of them entered the kitchen. Jason was eating his lunch as Leslie nursed a cup of tea and kept him company. Alfred was working on making pancake batter for the late-risers.

"Good afternoon, sirs! Good of you to finally join us," Alfred smiled in greeting as he poured the batter on a hot griddle.

"How do you always seem to know when we are getting up?" Bruce asked crankily. He wasn't upset, however, just curious. The man's knowledge of his schedule bordered on psychic. It wasn't the first time that Bruce had considered the possibility that his butler was a secret meta-human.

"It wasn't difficult today," he told him.

Jason snorted. "Yeah! You two sounded like a herd of buffalo coming down the stairs."

Leslie abandoned her tea and got to her feet. "Oh, my! So, it _is_ true! When Alfred called me and asked that I pick up a few things for a toddler, I honestly thought your hound dog ways had caught up with you. When they said it was for Richard, I was certain they were pulling my leg."

"Really, madam?" Alfred retorted. "Since when have you known me to have ever played a prank?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Would you like for me to answer that?"

"No, sir, I would not." And the older man returned his attention to his griddle, adding to the stove eggs and sausages.

Leslie's eyes sparkled with curiosity, delight, and awe. "My God! How could something like this happen? Oh, look at those chubby, little cheeks . . . and those eyes! Bruce, he's _adorable_! You must hand him over to me this instant," she demanded as she swept Dick out of his arms.

"Easy, Leslie. He has injuries," Bruce felt compelled to warn. "Oh, and thank you for the clothes. The shirt was a nice touch," he added dryly, "and the shoes are a big hit."

Leslie smiled as she admired the boy and his shirt. "Like that, did you? I couldn't resist when I saw it."

He walked over to take a cup from the cabinet now that he was free to pour himself some coffee. "You should know that he hasn't retained any of his memories. He's not going to be able to recognize you."

"No memories?" she exclaimed. "How can that be? I find it hard to fathom a technology advanced enough to reverse the aging process could effectively wipe a lifetime of memories." She set Dick on the counter in front of her and peered into his eyes to check his pupils. "Hello, Richard. Do you not remember me? My name is Leslie. I've been your doctor for many, many years." When Dick only blinked at her, blankly, she asked Alfred, "I see some bruising. Has he any indication of a concussion? That might explain some partial memory loss."

"Master Richard has shown no signs of one," Alfred told her as he flipped his pancakes. "I assure you that I checked for a concussion quite thoroughly."

"The bruises are merely bruises in this case," Bruce said as he blew on the fresh brew to cool it.

"Does he talk?" she asked.

"He does," Bruce murmured as he took a sip. "But his command of the language isn't up to the standards of most three-year-olds. And there has been _no_ words in Romany nor any other language he knew, except for English."

She glanced at Bruce with a frown. "That's impossible! What could have possibly stripped him of his command of several languages to leave him with only one? And isn't Romany considered his first language? No, Bruce. He must have hidden memories in there somewhere."

Alfred poured more batter. "You speak as if reversing one's age is an everyday occurrence, Doctor. _Everything_ about this situation is impossible and yet, here we are."

"You do have a point there, Alfred," she agreed reluctantly. "This is truly amazing! Are you certain, however, that this is really Richard Grayson? I mean the advances we've had in cloning animals . . ."

"Positive," Bruce told her. "A clone would still have his own set of unique fingerprints. Not only does his DNA match 100% but the fingerprint analysis I did proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the boy _is_ Dick Grayson."

The boy in question was getting antsy as he squirmed to get down.

"Hold up there, young man," Leslie said as she caught and set him back in place. "I'm not quite finished with you yet. You really don't know me? Can you say Leslie?"

"Leslie," he repeated with a huff.

He saw Jason and waved, obviously hoping the older boy would come to his rescue. Jason turned his attention back to his plate, studiously ignoring the silent pleas of the younger child.

"Very good," Leslie praised, tapping him on the nose.

Jason rolled his eyes and reached for his milk.

"You realize that the implication of a technology capable of reversing the aging process is incredible. With it, we could discover ways to reverse diseases of old age such as Alzheimer's or dementia!"

"I would think the lack of memories that would result from the process would lessen the appeal," Bruce frowned.

She shook her head as she tugged Dick's shirt up to check his other injuries. "I'm certain that whatever did this must have simply shocked his system temporarily. I would place bets that his memories will return with time or perhaps with the aid of therapy. We should set up an appointment right away for a MRI."

She peeled the bandage from Dick's side. "Three stitches," she noted. "Lovely work, Alfred. How did he receive this gouge? Have you determined?" It was deeper toward the front and thinned to a mere crease as it moved further along the boy's side until it disappeared entirely.

"That would appear to be from a bullet," Alfred told her, making plates for both Dick and Bruce. "There was a trace amount of gunpowder found but luckily, it was only a graze. Other than some bruising, his ribs are intact."

Jason got up and walked over to see the wound for himself. "What? Someone shot him?" he asked scowling.

Bruce refilled his cup and picked up his plate with a murmured 'thanks' to his butler. "I am assuming Dick was still nineteen when it happened. The corresponding damage to his suit would indicate as much."

Leslie hummed. "The age-reversal did nothing to heal his injuries," she made a mental note. "In any case, if you get your hands on whatever did this, you must hang onto it. It should be studied for its potential to treat various medical conditions. In the meantime, I know a number of therapists that could help Richard try to access his memories."

"Leslie, it is my hope that Dick can be returned to normal as quickly as possible. Let's wait until then to see if he might actually have need of someone, shall we?" Bruce told her.

"If nothing else, the boy should be able to access the memories he had during this time of his life," she insisted. She looked at Dick again. "Richard? Do you remember your parents? What about the circus? Do you remember the big top and the elephants?"

"The circus? The kid grew up in a circus?" Jason asked, frowning.

Dick shook his head and twisted in her grip, wanting to get down.

"I think he wants to get down now," Jason said, tugging on the doctor's sleeve.

"Leslie, perhaps this can wait until after the boy has eaten breakfast?" Alfred suggested.

"Of course, Alfred. This should only take a second," Leslie moved Dick back in front of her. "Richard, look at me. Do you remember your mommy and daddy?"

"Who's that?" Dick frowned.

"Think, Richard. Who takes care of you?"

"Bwoose! Alfed . . ." his eyes found Jason and he held out a hand to him. "Jason eat my belly. It tickled!" Dick grinned.

"No, sweetheart, before that. Before Jason and Alfred and Bruce . . . Who took care of you?"

Dick looked down at his new shoes and kicked the cabinet, setting of a new round of flashing green lights. He held one foot out toward Jason.

"I got new shoes," he exclaimed. "See the lights?"

Leslie leaned down to get Dick's attention. "Richard, look at me."

Dick looked away. "No. No Richard. My name no Richard."

Leslie blinked. "If it's not Richard, then what is it?"

Dick kicked his foot again to make the shoe light up. "Dick my name. Bwoose say so."

"Leslie, can this wait?" Bruce called to her from the table.

"One minute more," she told him. "Fine. Dick is your name. Can you look at me, Dickie? Can you tell me who took care of you before Bruce?"

"No . . . Jason, see my shoes? They have owigators!"

Bruce stood up. "Leslie, enough. He can't remember."

"Bruce, please. I know it's in there. Dick, honey, just try to remember . . ." Leslie insisted, coaxing the boy.

Dick threw his hands up over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut suddenly. "No! No, no, no, no, _nooooo_ ," he wailed.

Jason blinked, and looked at the adults in alarm. "What's wrong with him?"

Bruce leapt forward. He took Leslie's arm and moved her back away from the boy as Dick continued to shake his head.

"No, no, no, no!" Dick yelled louder.

"I don't understand," Leslie told Bruce. "How could they leave him only one language out of the five he knows? What of his earliest experiences? His mother; his father . . ."

Dick threw himself off of the counter, evading Alfred's grasping hand as the older man attempting to save him from a fall. Jason caught Dick in his arms and held him tight. The boy clung to him, grabbing handfuls of Jason's t-shirt. Jason was surprised to find the toddler actually trembling. He backed away from the adults who continued to argue.

"Leslie, this is making him upset. _You're_ making him upset," Bruce was telling her as he escorted her to the table and away from the boys.

"And why is that?" Leslie asked him. "He must remember something or he wouldn't have gotten so agitated. Perhaps, then, he's seeing glimpses into whatever did this to him. I know it must seem cruel but you need answers."

"We do not need them right this minute. If the child is remembering something," Alfred soothed as he poured her more tea, "we can look into it later, when the boy is willing to cooperate."

Abruptly, Dick began struggling with Jason to be let down. "Shut up! Shut up!" he screamed. " _She_ come!"

Jason lowered him to the floor before he could drop him and then dropped to his knees himself, grabbing Dick by his upper arms so he couldn't run off. "Hey! Take it easy! Calm down . . . It's okay!"

Bruce moved quickly to help. Dick looked like he was having some kind of panic attack. He waved his hands over his head and then tried to push Jason's hands away.

"Flutterbees! Black flutterbees! They flutter. . . They fly! Go away!" Dick cried out, his voice rising higher.

Bruce kneeled down and tugged Dick to him. "Dick, calm down. You're alright." Whatever the boy was recalling, the fear it inspired was real.

"No! _She_ come! _She_ come! No, don't," Dick wriggled and squirmed, caught up in the vision of black flapping wings beating at him, gray flesh, and the feel of icy, dead lips kissing his forehead. " _She_ **_kill_** _you_!"

Bruce blinked in surprise. _Is Leslie right_? _Is_ _Dick's remembering the person that did this to him_?

Bruce recalled the report of the woman that had been described as a zombie. Was _she_ the one responsible for the deaths in Bludhaven and Dick's de-aging? His boy was acting similar to the description of the police officer who survived. It seemed likely they had both had dealings with the same person. But why had Dick been made into a child and the officer not? In any case, this was the link he was looking for.

"Dick, who is _she_?" Bruce asked gently. "Was _she_ the one who did this to you?"

Dick suddenly twisted unexpectedly, yanking himself out of Bruce's arms. He scrambled around the man and ran, dodging Alfred and Leslie's hands, before barreling out of the kitchen.

* * *

"It's okay! I've got him," Jason hollered over his shoulder and was out the door, hot on Dick's heels.

But it wasn't as easy as that. The boy was agile and quick! Every time that Jason thought he had him, Dick would turn or swerve unpredictably. He turned into the living room and scrambled into a small space between furnishings. When Jason found him, Dick was weeping into his upraised knees.

Jason shoved the loveseat over enough that he could squeeze into the space with the smaller boy and sat down on the floor beside him.

 _Wow_! _This kid was certainly not the same guy as he was a month ago. That guy had stood up to the Batman without flinching and that took some guts_. _Was the way he was acting now have more to do with his age or was whatever did this to him as scary as all of that_?

While having to go through childhood again would suck donkey balls, Jason didn't think the idea was scary enough to have a freaking meltdown like this. What he _did_ know was that he was having a hard time reconciling the guy who humiliated him in the cave with this terrified, little kid.

Shoving himself back against the wall, Jason sighed.

"Hey! It's okay. She can't get you here," he said, and hoped he wasn't lying to the boy. "You're safe. Bruce and Alfred and I . . ." He rolled his eyes at including himself but it had just slipped out. What had Alfred said the other day? In for a penny . . . " _We'll_ protect you."

After a minute, Dickie looked up. Tears streaked his face and glistened on his eyelashes. His nose was running which was a little gross. Grimacing, Jason tugged at the handkerchief in his pocket that Alfred insisted he always carry. It was better than using his shirt, though, he thought as he used the cloth to wipe the boy's nose.

 _Ew_ . . . It was different when it was your own snot. It was something else entirely, when the snot belonged to another person.

"Blow," he muttered, disgusted at where his day had gone.

Dick blew and Jason folded the handkerchief and cleaned up the rest of the boy's face. He held the soggy cloth out, unsure of what to do with it now. It was _not_ going back into his pocket, that much he knew for certain. Unsure what else to do with it, he shoved it under the loveseat.

"You okay, now?" Jason asked, leaning over to bump him lightly.

Dick scooted closer and Jason lifted his arm to let him in, wrapping it around him. No one liked feeling scared. Hanging with someone always made it better. As he sat there, Jason recalled bits and pieces of his own uncomfortable childhood, hiding in the closet, out on the fire escape, or under the stairs in his apartment building. Every once in a while, he would share the spot under the stairs or sit on the fire escape with the boy and his sister across the hall. Their father had been a mean drunk.

In any case, Jason knew he had felt safer when he had been surrounded by the other two, even if it wasn't actually the truth. Just the comfort of another warm body made all the difference.

Jason heard as Bruce walked Leslie to the front door. Their words were muffled by distance but he could make out just a little. He pressed Dickie's head against his chest and covered the child's ear with his hand. The little guy just needed some quiet in order to calm the fuck down.

* * *

"Eight hundred thirty-seven people dead? Is that the final tally? It had been five hundred when I went to bed at 7:00 this morning," Bruce growled.

"It's horrible, I know," Leslie admitted as she gathered her things together. "They say that the area affected forms a huge circle that is close to a mile in diameter. I had no idea that Richard had been mixed up in that. How did he survive when so many perished?"

"I have no answer to that question yet," Bruce sighed. "But I believe it may have been intentional if the source of Dick's breakdown is any indication."

"I'm so sorry," Leslie told him as he escorted her out. "How I acted . . . That was totally unprofessional of me. I completely failed to read the signals he was giving me. I just . . . I didn't realize what he went through had been so traumatic. I can give you a number of a friend of mine that might be able to help with that. Niall's a superb psychiatrist."

"Later," Bruce told her. "Let me see what I can do first. If we can return Dick to normal in the next few days, it may not be necessary"

Leslie snorted. "He's what now? Three? It seems perfectly reasonable that his coping mechanism is underdeveloped at the moment, but I have long since thought that Richard . . . _Dick_ , **_and_ _you_** , to be truthful, place yourselves under too much strain. One of these days, one of you, or the _both_ of you, will snap like a taut rubber band, and then where will you be."

"Alfred does wonders and _he_ doesn't overcharge me," Bruce teased as they walked into the foyer.

She rolled her eyes at his blasé attitude to a very serious problem but it was nothing she was not used to when dealing with the man. "You're a billionaire," she retorted. "I think you're good for it." At his smirk, she added sarcastically, "If not, perhaps Niall can set you up on a payment plan."

Bruce laughed and did what he always did: he changed the subject. "Leslie, thank you again for picking up the clothing and other items for us. Alfred reimbursed you, did he not?"

"Of course, and it was no trouble at all. It was rather fun shopping in the toddler section," she smiled. "If you need anything else, just call."

"Of course," Bruce opened the door and followed her out.

As she approached her vehicle, she turned. "You'll tell him that I'm sorry, won't you? I didn't mean to frighten him . . . It's just . . ." she sighed, shaking her head. "Well, if you do find the technology that managed this . . ."

"I'll keep it and take it to Star Labs. Will that suit you?" Bruce assured her.

"Well, short of doing it myself, yes. That will suit. Thank you and good luck," Leslie slid behind the wheel. "Having a toddler around," she laughed. "And here you thought Dickie was a handful at eight . . ."

Bruce smiled and closed her door, waving as she drove off. When the gates closed behind her, the smile faded.

So, Dick did have some recall of the person responsible for this, after all. His reaction was not promising, although the boy's capacity to handle stress was undeniably impaired by his immaturity. But his boy had always been brave, even at a young age, even in the face of true danger. Seldom had Dick ever allowed fear to dictate his actions except at night when sleep deprived him of his normal defenses.

Bruce had little doubt of Dick's bravery. His ability to conquer the hallway upstairs was proof of that. No, there was something unusual about this woman. A full-grown police officer apparently had the same problems when he had confronted her, according to the report. But Bruce had a place to start and his first clues. Unfortunately, nothing he had learned so far made any sense whatsoever.

He would need to go back to Bludhaven tonight.

* * *

"Jason?"

"Sh! Over here . . ."

The boy's voice had come from the corner of the living room. Bruce walked in and peered over the arm of the sofa. There he found Jason with Dickie curled up beside him, the child's thumb back in his mouth.

"Is he asleep?" Jay whispered.

Bruce smiled as Dick's blue eyes flashed at him from beneath dark lashes. "No, he's awake."

"Aw, man. You mean I could have moved?" Jason grumbled. "I've been sitting here afraid to move a muscle because I thought he fell asleep or something. I was worried that waking him would cause him to . . . Well, you know."

"Hm," Bruce nodded.

It pleased him to find kindness still in the boy. Bruce had been wondering if the fourteen-year-old had had that characteristic beaten out of him before the Batman had found him. It gave him hope. It also meant that he had been correct for once and hadn't overestimated Jason's ability to adapt to change without resorting to hostility. Jason's whole life had been constructed around unpleasant and ever-shifting situations. His being confronted with his predecessor was just one more.

Dick's stomach rumbling pulled him out of his thoughts and back to the presence. All this excitement had occurred before the child had had the opportunity to eat. He had to be starving by now. Bruce's stomach answered him next for apparently his two bites of his own meal had done nothing to appease his own hunger either.

He held his hands out. "C'mon, Dickie . . . Alfred's heating your pancakes up and making you some fresh scrambled eggs."

The thumb came out of his mouth with a 'pop' and he reached up so Bruce could lift him out of his hiding spot.

Jason climbed to his feet. "Must be tough to have no memories of your parents," he commented. His own father had been a criminal and his mother an alcoholic but there had been a few good times. _But how much better would life had been if there had been elephants_? he wondered.

Bruce shot him a warning look. The talk of memories had already cause one eruption this morning. Dick patted Bruce's face with a sticky hand to gain attention.

"I don't have a daddy," he announced. He looked at Bruce with a serious expression. "Bwoose be my daddy?" Dick asked him then.

Bruce blinked, startled by the question that came out of seemingly nowhere. The blue eyes that regarded him were surprisingly steady.

"Pease?"

Jason climbed out of the hiding spot, laughing. "Yeah, Bruce. Me, too?"

With so much already on his mind, Bruce chose to evade the uncomfortable question rather than answer. "Breakfast is waiting," he told them and turned on his heel. "We'll talk about that at another time."

Behind him, Jason snorted derisively. "Uh huh, I thought so."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Owigator shoes with flashy wights are the BEST! ;D**

 **Okay, I am waiting with baited breath to hear from you. Yes, I'm begging . . . It's sad, really, but such is my life that reviews and faves have become my greatest thrill. (Uh, yeah . . . Okay, I should probably clarify that it is merely - _at this present time_ \- my greatest thrill. I've had other thrills before. Trust me, I know thrills. Not that I'm a thrill-seeker but you know, I've only become boring in the past couple of years . . . I make up for it, though, by being exceptionally witty and rather funny. No, really . . . It's true!) Anyway, please Review! ;D**


	9. Did You Lose Something?

**WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE . . .**

* * *

"Bruce! How much longer must I watch this little . . ." Jason hesitated when Bruce shot a hard glare in his direction. "Um . . . creep?"

"Jason," he sighed, "you can see that I'm busy right now. Questions don't get answered nor mysteries solved without the necessary time and the effort put into them. What is the issue that you are unable to handle on your own?"

The teen bit the inside of his cheek and frowned at the toddler balanced on his hip. "It's just that I didn't sign up to be a babysitter. He's slobbering all over the controller to my game."

Bruce stared at him for a moment more before returning to the task at hand, the downloading of various ATM and traffic cameras that fed along a certain route. One look at the map of the affected area had enabled him to triangulate the center of the phenomenon and discover Bludhaven's Museum of Natural History. Hacking into and reviewing the dispatcher's log, Bruce looked at the hour previous to the initial recorded 911 call of the emergency at the theater. This led him to the report of a possible break-in at the museum after the building's alarm had gone off and the security company had forwarded it to the police.

The patrol car in the area had never responded to the dispatcher's call, and the second closest had run into the panicked crowd outside of a movie theater and never arrived. The senior officer in that vehicle had been reported killed at the scene by the same phenomenon that had killed over eight hundred other people and more than two dozen police and SWAT that had responded to his call for backup. His partner, the only officer at the scene to survive whatever happened, was Jimmy Li, currently a patient in the psyche ward of Mercy General Hospital.

Bruce was hoping that checking the videos of the cameras that provided the most direct route from the museum to the theater would give him a visual of the woman that was described, the woman Bruce suspected that had caused Dick's breakdown this morning. If he was lucky, he might even get a glimpse of the confrontation that had left dozens of police officers as nothing but dust. The chances of this happening were small but he had located at least two cameras that were located in the vicinity of the attack itself or whatever one chose to call it.

"At least tell me when Alfred is getting back." Jason's voice cut into his thoughts once more.

"Alfred is out purchasing a few more items that Leslie didn't bring. Things that Dick will need if, for some reason, this takes longer than a few days. However, we need to avoid media attention, so he must purchase large amounts in order for him to donate the extra clothing, shoes, toys, and such to the local boy's home in my parents' name," Bruce explained. "The orphanage is always in need and it will provide a believable cover for the actual purchases we are making for Dick."

Jason huffed. "He gets more stuff? Man, it will be like Christmas."

"Leslie only bought him three outfits, Jason. You've seen how he eats. Dick will obviously need several changes a day as well as quite a few other things," Bruce pointed out reasonably. Observing Jason's continued irritation, Bruce added, "Perhaps he will get something to distract him from your game controller. That _is_ what you came down here to complain about, is it not?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Jay mumbled. He noticed the different camera angles in ten different windows displayed on the center jumbo screen that made up part of the Batcomputer and walked closer. "What are you searching for?"

"A woman," Bruce told him distractedly. "There was a mention of a strange woman at the scene where the police had died. I believe it is the same 'she' to whom Dick was referring when he grew so distraught. Right now, she is our only link between the two incidents."

"Let down," Dickie whined. "Let down!"

Jason frowned as he wrestled a bit with Dickie. The boy wanted down. The kid always wanted down. "But no one else was turned into a baby, were they? Everyone died there. Nightwing was turned into a little kid. I don't see the connection."

"Two separate incidents, both seemingly inconceivable, happen within the same hour in the same city . . . The museum break-in is something that Nightwing might investigate if he was listening into the police channel while on patrol. The museum is at the center of the area in which every living creature was killed. A few blocks away, and on a direct route from the museum, sits the theater and the place where, a short time later, the police reported seeing a strange woman. There was a confrontation of some kind and all of the officers but one were killed."

"Bwoose, want down. Pease?" the little boy stretched toward the man in the chair but Bruce was trying to bring several of the cameras into better focus. Something he couldn't easily do while holding a squirming child. Jason could hold onto him for a little while longer.

"Okay, but you have no proof that says Nightwing was ever at the museum," Jason argued, "and even if he was, why didn't he die with everyone else?"

"I will be going back tonight to search for clues to what happened there but, in the meantime, I will follow the route between the two sites and search the videos for some scrap of evidence that will link the two of them." Bruce told him.

Jason stepped closer. "What does the woman look like? How will we know the woman if we see her?"

"She is described as wearing feathers in her hair," Bruce told him.

"Okay, there can't be a lot of those," Jason said. "Anything else?"

Bruce's lips tipped up in mild amusement. "You need more than that?"

"For all we know they were having western day at the movie theater and all the women are wearing feathers in their hair," the boy remarked, switching Dickie over to his other hip.

"Good point," Bruce agreed. "One officer had told dispatch that she looked like a zombie."

"Down! Down, down," Dickie said.

Jason blinked. "What? She's a rotting corpse and no one thinks that's weird?"

"I would suppose that would depend upon one's definition of a zombie," Bruce commented. "On a positive note, it should make her stand out against the crowd."

"No joke. So, how are these set up?" Jason asked. He pointed to the screen, indicating the separate windows, each of which was running its own security footage. "Which are closer to the museum and which are near the theater. Do we have a frame of reference?"

Bruce was impressed with Jason's questions. He had to admit, he had missed the boy's unique perspective on the cases he was investigating. Dick, too, had often provided invaluable insight on numerous cases, helping to solve investigations for which the Batman had run into a wall. Of course, all of his current investigations had been put aside in light of this particular situation.

He pointed to one side of the screen. "It runs from the bottom across and then back up and over. The top window is in almost directly in front of the building where more than forty officers died. Most were discovered on top of the roof but there were at least seven on the street with various emergency personnel. Several paramedics had been amongst those killed. They had been there treating men injured in a freak attack by a swarm of birds."

"Birds? What time was all this supposed to have happen again?"

"Around midnight"

"Okay, that's not normal. So, where did you find the rugrat," Jason asked. He tightened his grip as the rugrat in question leaned back, pushing away from the teen as much as he could. The kid could practically bend himself double. It was a little gross.

"In his apartment." Bruce used one of the smaller screens to pull up a map.

He showed the circle within which the people had died and then highlighted the museum, the theater, and then Dick's apartment building. The building was just a mere two blocks outside of the affected area. _Dear God_! _How close he had come_ . . .

"Birds, Indian zombie princesses, hundreds of dead people killed in a horrific manner, and one vigilante turned into a three-year-old . . . What do all of these things have in common?" Jay murmured staring at the screen. The first window shown was outside of the museum. The front door was off to the far right of the picture but plainly visible.

"I have to admit, this is turning out to be one of my stranger cases," Bruce admitted.

Jason snorted. "One of?"

"There have been others."

Movement caught Jason's eye. A couple came into camera view. They were walking on the opposite side of the street from the museum, on the side closest to the camera. Part of a vehicle was parked just inside of the picture. The front end and part of the front passenger-side door was visible from the left side of the screen. The man stepped in front, most likely to open the door for his companion when suddenly they both stopped moving. They just stood there for a few seconds. Hardly noticeable really until the woman seemed to topple.

Jason's eyes widened in shock and he let Dickie slide to the floor as he leaned forward and rewound the video sixty seconds to show Bruce.

"Holy Shit! Did you _see_ that?" he yelped.

"Language, Jason," Bruce snapped absentmindedly, his eyes and attention glued to the screen.

The boy shook his head and pointed. "No! Just look! Watch what happens to the couple."

The woman topples into the man and the couple's bodies simply disintegrated, their clothing collapsing into a pile onto the sidewalk. They rewound the video and showed it again only this time searching for the source of whatever power it was that had killed them. But there was nothing . . . Nothing! They stopped every other video around the same time and observed all those that had a person in it. Without fail at the same moment, every person within the giant arc froze in place, most collapsing into the same kind of dust as the first couple and, in one case, caused two cars to crash into one another.

Bruce leaned back in his chair, stunned. "It happened all at the same time?"

He tapped a few keys and the times adjusted into the thousandths of seconds. Only then could he see the difference in the times of the action between the four separate video feeds.

"Do you see, Jason?" Bruce pointed to the different times. "It happened as a wave flowing out from the museum but traveled so fast that it appeared simultaneous."

"What does that mean exactly?" Jason asked. "It originates inside the museum but it didn't tell us what caused it."

"Keep watching." Bruce readjusted the times on all the cameras and restarted the videos. "It started at the museum. Whatever we are looking for is there."

It only took a couple of minutes. The door of the museum exploded outward and then, out of the shadowy interior, a person stepped out. A woman with feathers in her hair!

"Holy – "

"Language!" Bruce barked, but neither took their eyes from the screen.

As the video continued, shadows grew erratic and eventually they realized that the black fluttering movements were those of birds. Large, black ravens . . . some landed on the ground or on the car, some remained aloft and circled the woman. One delicate looking arm came up and one of the birds landed on her bare skin. She didn't even flinch.

The woman stroked the wild raven as if it were her pet. She glanced up at the sky but the camera was too far away to give them any details about her appearance other than the color of her skin. It appeared gray from this distance and angle. It was night and the lights from the nearby streetlamps weren't quite strong enough.

"It's true. The woman and the birds are connected," Jason murmured in awe.

"And I'd bet a million dollars that, somehow, she is the source of that wave of death," Bruce said.

"Ah, there you all are," Alfred's voice cut in, bringing both heads around to his direction. He was coming down the stairs.

"Alf! We found the woman," Jason yelled.

Alfred motioned with his hand. "Soft, Jason. The acoustics carry your voice quite well without you having to raise it."

"And how did it go?" Bruce asked. "Did you get everything that Dick might need?"

"At this rate, we might be able to have him back to normal by tomorrow," Jason interrupted with this good news.

"That _is_ wonderful news," Alfred agreed. His normally stoic expression morphed into one of confusion as he looked around. "I dropped off the clothing and toys as you requested, providing several sizes that included Master Dick's. They were very appreciative of the gesture, you will be happy to know. Um . . . I say, where is Master Dick? Did one of you put him down for his nap?"

Bruce glanced at Jason as he leapt to his feet. "Jason! You were holding him!"

Bruce had already begun turning around in a circle, scanning the area for the toddler as Jason looked at his hands in confusion.

"I-I just had him a few minutes ago," he stammered. "I don't even remember . . . Wait! I think I let him down when we saw those people die. I-I needed my hands to rewind the video and . . . Ah, crap!"

"Good Lord! A few moments are all an inquisitive child needs to get into serious trouble, even in the relative safety of the house. The cave has all manner of dangers to a small child," Alfred said as he moved towards the computer. The space between it and the cave wall was large enough for Bruce to squeeze through in case he needed to get into a panel from behind. He looked behind it to no avail. "He is not back here," Alfred announced.

There was not a lot on this level in which a child could hide but the shadows were deep. Bruce headed down to the next level at a jog, cringing at the open metal grating that made up the steps. How easy it would be for a toddler to fall going down these? Dick had been the youngest to have ever been down here before as well but, at eight, he had the balance and dexterity and grace of a professional acrobat already.

The boy was still the youngest to have ever entered the Batcave but, unfortunately, now the cave was more than just a mass of levels filled with interesting novelties for a curious mind; it was a labyrinth of hidden dangers and drop-offs.

"Damn it! Jason, go down towards the boat dock. Make sure he didn't fall into the water," Bruce ordered. He looked at the array of vehicles down at the garage level. They were displayed prominently and easily seen from here. They might attract a young boy's curiosity. "I'll check out the vehicles."

Jason's face was pale and he looked a little sick. "Y-You don't really think he could have really gotten down that far . . . do you?" he asked even as he bypassed the first set of stairs altogether, leaping down to the next level. Thankfully, he didn't wait around for a reply but set off at a run.

Alfred moved off onto the bridge that linked the command section to another section of the cave. "I'll check the lab and the medical bay, and then head over to the armory, sir. I can reach the changing room from there."

* * *

Several long minutes later, Alfred came down to the garage area. Bruce was lying on the floor checking underneath the various vehicles. He climbed to his feet when he saw Alfred. He scowled when he realized the old man didn't have Dickie with him.

"No, sign of him, sir?" Alfred asked worriedly. So many horrible things could happen to a child in a place like this.

Bruce looked over the expanse of vehicles of all sorts that, up until today, he had felt a measure of pride in. Now, however, the first traces of regret creeped in.

"When I realized that every single one of these vehicles is programmed to accept Dick's DNA, I felt relief that he couldn't be shocked by their security systems," he said.

"Indeed," as Alfred followed his train of thought. "The voltage is set to stun into unconsciousness a fully grown adult. That level of electricity would likely stop a toddler's heart."

To think, he had briefly considered locking Dick out of the assortment of vehicles after he had fired him . . . But Dick's leaving the city had stayed his hand. A month ago, though, the thought had crossed his mind a second time. Luckily, that night, Bruce had left immediately afterwards to expend some of his anger on the criminals of Gotham that night. By the time he returned to the cave, he had already began regretting his actions while dealing with the boy.

So, Dick had donned a new costume and name, one not necessarily associated with Batman. He was an adult by then. There was nothing Bruce could do to stop him, save cutting him off financially or turning him in, one he could do but the other was out of the question. The second option would only serve to get Dick killed faster than it would should the boy continue the mission on his own. Bruce had left the boy's security codes intact and left him in the system. Unknown to Dick as well, Bruce was well aware of his earlier foray into one of Batman's safe houses for a handful of items to help him on his crime-fighting way. Since then, Bruce was careful to keep that particular safe house well-stocked with supplies that the boy might need should he ever come back.

But he never did . . .

The truth was, Bruce didn't mind funding Nightwing's activities. Despite what Dick probably believed, Bruce didn't doubt either his fighting or his detective skills. And, although he would have preferred the boy to seek out a normal life that included family and friends, Bruce refused to sabotage him along the way. He only wanted what any . . . father . . . might want for his child, for him to be happy and safe.

"I'm not certain Dick is tall enough or strong enough to open any of the doors but I checked each vehicle just to be safe," he told Alfred, worriedly.

The boy hadn't popped up during the search, neither had they heard him which was odd since the cave's acoustics would have carried his laugh, his gurgle, his cry for help right to them. What could have prevented him from answering back when they had repeatedly called out to him?

Bruce's eyes widened in terror. "Jason! He's down by the dock searching the boats."

"Oh, but surely, Master Dick couldn't have gotten all the way to the dock without someone realizing it?" Alfred asked as he ran after him.

Bruce didn't bother with the stairs, choosing to disregard them altogether as he leapt from one level to the next. He slid down the ladder to the dock. Jason was just climbing out of the boat, no toddler in sight. The boy spun around at the sound of Bruce's arrival looking pale. Bruce wondered briefly if the teenager was about to pass out.

"Please, tell me you found him," Jason begged.

"No."

The word fell hard from Bruce's mouth. His gaze traveled to the water. It was one of the smaller tributaries that ran to an underground river that exited near where the Gotham River drained into the Atlantic. If Dick had fallen into the water, they would never find his body, never!

"Did you find any indication that anyone's been down here?" Bruce asked, his voice harsh with the effort it took to control his own erratic emotions.

Jason shook his head. "No. Nothing . . . But that's a good thing, right? Bruce?"

"If Dick fell in, the water would have swept any sign of him away," he snapped.

 _Oh, shit_! _Oh no_ . . . Jason stared at the swiftly moving, black water with growing horror. "Sh-Shouldn't we do something? I mean . . . We could take the boat."

Bruce glared at him, his fear for his child coalescing into anger at the situation. "If he fell in, Jason, he is gone."

Jason shook his head. "Not if we hurry! C'mon, maybe we can still catch him!" He ran to where the ropes tied the securely to the dock but Bruce's voice stopped him.

"Jason, even _with_ the boat, even taking it at top speed, we would never be able to catch up. This tributary links up to a larger river with an even more powerful current just around the bend." Bruce said brusquely. "It's not likely he made it this far, however. There are still other places he might have chosen to explore."

"Sir?" Alfred looked down at them from the top of the ladder.

"We need lights, spelunking equipment, repelling rope, communicators. He could have wandered into one of the passages off of the main cavern," Bruce told the older man as he rushed up the ladder. "He hasn't been missing that long. If we hurry, Alfred, one of us may find him before he can tumble down an incline or fall into a shaft."

Jason stood below and yelled up to them. "What do **_I_** do?"

"You will plant yourself at the command center and relay to the other if one of us finds him," Bruce growled.

"But there are tons of passages off the cavern and only two of you," Jason climbed up the ladder and ran to catch up. "I want to help!"

"You will do what you are told or you can wait upstairs! You don't know the cave system here and have no experience spelunking. The last thing I need is for both of you to end up lost and in need of rescue," Bruce told him as they hurried toward the equipment room next to the armory. He stopped suddenly and grabbed Jason by the arm. "You _will_ obey me in this. Do you understand me?" he bit out, snappishly. "Dick's life is on the line and I can't be worried that you'll go off on your own and get yourself into trouble."

"I-I wouldn't . . ." Jason stuttered. "I just . . . Please, I want to help!"

"It may not seem like it to you but _this_ is how you can help," Bruce told him before giving him a push in the direction of the path that led to the command level. He took off after Alfred at a run.

* * *

Jason blinked rapidly to dispel the moisture gathering behind his eyes. This was all his fault! He set Dickie down and forgot all about him. What if the kid was really lost, or hurt?

 _What if he's dead_? A tear dripped from his lashes to splatter on the stone floor. Jason ran his sleeve over his eyes angrily. _Crying never solved anything_! If there was one thing his old man had taught him, it was that.

He just wanted to make up for his mistake!

But he knew Bruce was right. He had never explored the passages yet because he wasn't allowed to go alone. He didn't know what was down any of them except the paved one that led to the surface, the one Batman took when he left on patrol. Jason was a city boy and, although he could navigate the sewers and the subway system in Gotham like nobody's business, he was way out of his depth here. _Spelunking_? He'd never even heard of the term for cave exploring until now.

Jason moved up the many levels to the uppermost section: the command level where the Batcomputer sat; where the stairs from the manor deposited you; where the chambers that held the lab and the medical bay sat just to the left of it. He glanced behind him and saw that Bruce had bypassed Alfred and was disappearing into the equipment room where they stored the all the stuff Batman might need but that wouldn't kill you. Alfred was right behind him. Turning around, Jason began to climb the last set of steps and nearly staggered in his surprise.

"What the fuck? Are you _shitting_ me?" Jason gasped. He almost laughed.

From where he stood on the stairs, Jason's face was almost even with the floor. From here, he had a direct line of sight into the knee-hole beneath the computer station. Bruce's chair was in the way but it didn't obstruct his vision. There, tucked up tight in the back of the space, was Dickie, sound asleep by the looks of it.

"Bruce! Bruce! . . . Alfred," Jason yelled. "I found him! He's here!"

He didn't wait for them but ran over and shoved the chair aside to give him room to kneel down. He peered into the recess and, sure enough, Dick was out like a light, his damned thumb back in his mouth. The toddler would suck on it a few times and then his mouth would go slack around it for a short while before the routine would begin again.

"You, little anklebiter," Jason grumbled softly. "Have you been under here the entire time? No one even thought to look for you under here." Reaching in, Jay slid his arms underneath the little boy and pulled him out. His hands were shaking and, all of a sudden, the kid felt like he weighed a hundred pounds.

Jason's adrenaline was crashing. That's what Bruce had said this feeling was . . . like when you got a really good scare or right after you got away from some jerk who wanted to knock you around for kicks. It made your knees go wobbly and your hands would shake, so Jason didn't bother to try to stand up. He just leaned the sleeping child against his shoulder and hugged him tight.

 _Thank you_ . . . He wasn't sure who he was thanking but Jay was grateful he wouldn't be facing the rest of his life with this kid's death on his head.

The movement woke the boy up and he lifted his head, smiling sleepily at the older boy. Dick patted his cheek with a sticky hand.

"Jay-Jay eat me up?" the boy asked happily.

The boy had no idea what a ruckus he'd caused. Jason shook his head and chuckled wearily.

"I ought to," he told him. "I really ought to . . ." But then Dick was gone.

Jason looked up at Bruce, towering over him, as the man drew Dickie into another hug. He watched as Bruce staggered over to the computer chair and sat down heavily. Alfred came up the stairs only moments later.

"Is Master Dick alright, Jason? Where was he?" Alfred asked breathlessly.

Jason was nodding but didn't take his eyes off of Bruce. He was handling the child in his arms with all kinds of gentleness, totally unlike the guy in the cape and the cowl.

 _The Bat was a total fake_! He made you think he was going to reach down your throat, rip out your heart, and eat it right in front of you but there he sat now, all wobbly knees and shaking hands, cuddling a little kid in his arms.

"He was right here the whole time," Jason told them, a relieved smile hovering about his lips. "He must have crawled between Bruce's legs and into the cubby under the work station while we were distracted. He was curled up under there, sleeping, when I came up the steps." He shrugged. "We just couldn't see him from where we were standing."

"Thank the good Lord," Alfred murmured, "he's safe. I feel a little foolish that I didn't think to look beneath the computer station before we all ran around the cave in such a great fuss."

"Jason." Bruce's voice sounded hoarse. "You will never bring Dick down here again without Alfred or I giving you permission."

Jason blinked. "But . . . _you_ were down here when I came."

"And you saw that I was busy, too busy to properly tend to a three-year-old child," Bruce growled. The relief was wearing off and beneath it the anger still lingered, apparently. "The cave is no place for a toddler. You saw. A moment's distraction and he had disappeared."

"But he's okay! He was just under the station," Jason argued. "He didn't get hurt or nothing!"

Alfred interrupted. "Perhaps now isn't the best time to discuss this," he suggested. "Emotions are high and . . ."

"My emotions are under control," Bruce snapped again. "This could have ended badly, Jason. Dick could have gotten seriously hurt. He could have died . . ."

"But he _didn't_ ," Jason said, his voice rising. He indicated the child in front of him with both hands. "He's fine!"

"No thanks to you," Bruce bit out. "Go upstairs! The Batcave is off limits to you tonight."

"What? B-But . . ."

Alfred laid a hand on the teen's shoulder and squeezed. "It's only for tonight, lad. No arguing. Run along now. You still have plenty of homework, I'm quite certain."

* * *

Jason backed away. Sure, it was his fault that Dick disappeared but he had also found him, and it wasn't like the kid wasn't all right. Lesson learned and all that . . . But Bruce was acting like Jason did this on purpose, like Jason had hoped the kid would get lost or something. _Which was stupid, by the way_.

It would have been different if Grayson was still grown up but what kind of monster would Jason have to be for him to wish harm on a _baby_ . . . because that was basically what the guy was right now, a baby. And the kid was even more naïve and innocent than a normal three-year-old because of that damned memory loss. Stuff even toddlers knew something about, it was as if Dickie was just laying eyes on some of it for the first time.

Jason shook his head, trudging up the steps slowly. It was weird how the kid acted sometimes. Like that stuff about the woman, who Bruce thought had done this to him . . . She had scared the shit out of the little tyke, enough so, that it had even scared Jason a little bit, too.

He was only halfway up the stairs but out of sight when the cave's acoustics brought Bruce's voice to him.

"Alfred, that boy has to learn responsibility! Mistakes like this are dangerous . . ."

"Master Bruce, he's just a boy. He will learn . . ."

"You don't . . . Alfred, you don't think that he could have done this intentionally, do you?"

"What?" Alfred sounded surprised.

"You said it yourself that he's jealous of Dick."

"Well, yes, but I don't believe that Jason actually harbors the boy any ill-will . . . This was just an unfortunate accident."

"I just wish I could be as sure."

Pain shot through Jay's chest. _That's_ what Bruce thought about him? After everything? Why bother bringing him into his house if the man thought Jason was some kind of fucking animal? Anger followed, however, swift and dark, and Jason turned on the stairs and yelled down at them from where he stood. He didn't want to see them . . . Any of them!

" _YEAH_? _WELL, FUCK YOU, TOO, BRUCE_! God! You all _SUCK_!"

"Jason!"

"No! Leave me alone! Just fuck the hell off!"

Jason ran the rest of the stairs and shoved into the study, not caring if he might damage the stupid clock or not. It would serve that bastard right if someone found the Batcave. They'd take the guy away and shove him into Arkham with the rest of the crazies.

 _But what would happen to Alfred if something happened to Bruce_? _And the people in Gotham_? The voice whispered in the back of his head. _Who would figure out what happened to the kid_? Jason shook his head, angrily. Damn his conscience! He didn't care!

"I don't care," he yelled into the blankness.

His voice echoed off the marble floors and soaring heights of the foyer as he headed up to his room as fast as he could go. He didn't have to run. It wasn't as if Bruce cared enough about him to chase after him.

At least not when he had that little brat! His perfect partner! His precious, golden child . . .

Jason slammed into his room and paced about wildly for a few minutes, pausing only to sweep his arm across his desk, scattering schoolbooks, papers, and pencils across his floor. The ball and glove Bruce had given him the second week he was here went flying as well. His raging had ended only after he had punched a hole into his wall.

"Ow! _Fuck_!" He sat on his bed and looked down at his hand, wondering if he had broken anything. That would just be his luck.

He had broken the skin on of two of his knuckles and it hurt now to open his fist. His fingers felt a little stiff but after a moment moving them, Jason decided the bones were intact. The freaking walls of the manor weren't made up of that cheap drywall crap that was used in the tenement apartments where he had grown up. Those walls were like paper. _This_ stuff felt like it punched back.

Sighing, any brief idea of running back to the streets slid away. He'd get into a fight for sure wearing this fancy shit Alfred had bought for him. All of his old clothes had been thrown away by now . . . _Or burned_ , he thought with a snort. With a bum hand, he'd probably get his ass handed to him, his clothes stolen, and then freeze to death in the freezing March temperatures.

And that asshole probably wouldn't even miss me, he thought uncharitably about his guardian. Jason laid back on his bed and rolled to face the wall. The window was right there if he decided later that he still wanted to run. He watched the light fade as night came on. He ignored the light knock on the door when Alfred came to ask him about dinner. He put his hands over his ears when he heard Dick's muffled voice ask where he was.

Quiet settled over the manor at night, different that it did during the day. A faint glimmer of anticipation seemed to float in the air, like something big was happening just around the corner, right out of sight.

It was a fanciful thought and Jason's last one before sleep finally overtook him.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I had you going, didn't I? ;D**

 **To be fair, Bruce and Alfred thought Jason was already gone when they began to speak . . . Eavesdroppers seldom hear anything good about themselves. Poor Jason . . . But the story is far from over. Give Bruce time - I'm sure he'll be making an ass of himself a couple of more times before he catches on and becomes what both of his boys need.**

 **That is - If the universe isn't destroyed by then.**


	10. Night Terrors

**Warning: Language and Some Disturbing Content . . .**

* * *

Visiting hours ended two hours ago. Patients were settled in their beds, their night meds given. It was shift change at the nurse's station as the evening staff prepared to give report to the night staff who were just trickling in. Late night housekeeping was cleaning the halls before they, too, were done for the night.

He had approximately fifteen minutes before the night-time nurse began making her rounds to check on her patients. More than enough time. He pushed his cart to the side of the hall, made sure that no one was looking when he ducked into the room listed as belonging to one Jimmy Li. If anyone asked, he was here to take out the trash and neaten the room.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Bruce moved into the room. Officer Li was attempting to sleep but moved restlessly beneath his covers, disturbed apparently by unpleasant dreams. So, he was doing the man a favor by waking him up. He double-checked his disguise: the moustache and glasses, the hat that covered his brown wig, and then reached out to gently touch the man's shoulder.

He was in the psyche ward . . . He didn't want to startle the man unnecessarily if he could avoid it.

"Wha?" Officer Li opened his eyes and glancing around the room in fear. His gaze finally settled on the man beside the bed who was changing out the trash. "Who are you?"

"Oh! Ah, jeez, darn it," he answered nervously, shoving his glasses up his nose. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean ta wake ya." He waved the trash bag in the air. "Just tiptoeing in ta get da trash."

"Ah, okay," Jimmy hit the bed controller and sat up. "Right, then. I'm safe," he muttered to himself. "Everything fine. It was just a dream."

"I saw that you was dreaming," he said. "Ya want ta talk about it?"

"Who did you say you were?" Jimmy asked.

"Just part of da housekeeping crew," he said. He reached for the water pitcher and poured some for the man in the bed. "In and out in a jiffy. It looked like ya were having a nightmare."

Li took the water gratefully. After a long drink, he set the cup down on his bedside tray. He watched the man as he replaced the trashcan liner. For all that he was listed as patient in the psychology ward, he was reasonably alert and still a cop. He didn't have a mental illness but was here for observation.

"I hear ya are a cop," he said conversationally as he set the trash bag aside and began sweeping the floor.

"Should you be doing this at night?" Li asked.

"I can do it now or first ting in the morning," he told him, "before visiting hours begin. I like ta do it late because everyone is sleeping-like and I don't bother no one, see? Mornings around here are kinda hectic, If'n ya know what I mean?" He shrugged and leaned on his broom. "I usually don't wake nobody up."

Jimmy nodded. "Okay, yeah. That makes sense."

"So," he smiled at him. "Ya want ta talk about it? Makes my boy feel betta to talk about it. Goes back ta sleep wit no problem a'tall, ya see?"

"Is that right?" Jimmy took another sip and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes for a moment and shuddered. They flew back open almost immediately and he glanced at the man waiting patiently. "I suppose it couldn't hurt, although it's not really your job."

"If'n I was a bartender instead of a janitor, I bet ya wouldn't say dat," he smirked. "But if'n it makes ya feel betta, I did pour ya a drink."

Jimmy chuckled at that. "Yeah, I guess you did and you're right, too. If you were my bartender, I'd not think twice about spilling my guts to you." He adjusted himself in the bed again, more awake than before, but not as alert as he should have been. The sleeping pill he had taken earlier made him feel dopey.

"I was dreaming about w-wings," he said. "They were slapping and fluttering around me, h-hitting my face. Big, black birds flying around me, s-slamming into me as I run. Th-Their beaks pecked and scratched at me. Their t-talons clawing." His breathing had become faster by the end of his narration.

Bruce wanted to frown but kept his face neutral. The description reminded him of Dick's breakdown earlier that day. _Flutterbees_ , Dickie had called them. _Black flutterbees. They fly_ . . . Black wings, perhaps? Made sense. Slamming into him? Might that account for some of the odd bruising on his side? _Could be,_ he thought, _could be_.

"Birds divebombing ya," he commented. "I could see where dat might upset ya some. Like dat Hitchcock film, heh?"

Li nodded and then shook his head. "Almost. There was s-someone else there behind them, though. Sh-She was moving through them like it was nothing. The birds, th-they didn't hit her at all. It was like she was one of them but in human form." His hands had begun trembling as he tried to pick up his cup. The water sloshed a bit as he took another drink. "I-I know. Sounds crazy, huh?"

"A bird woman, eh? Did she have wings, too?"

Jimmy's face took on a faraway look. "No, but sh-she had feathers on her head."

"Like a headdress?" he asked. At Jimmy's look, he shrugged his shoulders and clarified. "Like da Indians wear."

Li shook his head, slowly. "No, no, nothing like that. Sh-She didn't have hair like we do. The f-feathers grew out of her-her head." His voice began quavering slightly as he spoke, his stuttering was becoming more pronounced. "B-But the birds . . . Y-You _knew_ she was controlling them, s-somehow."

"A woman wit feathers for hair . . . She sent da birds to attack ya, huh? I could see how dat might freak ya out some," Bruce nodded, sympathizing. "Can ya remember anyting' else?"

Li shook his head again and again. "No, no . . . W-Wait! Yes!" Li reached out and grabbed Bruce's wrist. The grip was almost painful. "Sh-She was g-gray!"

He blinked. "Gray? Da feathers?"

"N-No! H-Her skin! It was gray! L-Like the d-dead," Li exclaimed, his voice rising. "Sh-She l-looked like a z-zombie. Like a f-fucking zombie, man!"

"What did she say? Did she speak ta ya?" he asked next.

"Y-Yes. Sh-She looked at m-me," Jimmy frowned. He was trembling now all over and his eyes darted around the room nervously.

"I don't understand."

"Sh-She said w-we were all going to d-die!" The man was becoming extremely agitated now. "Sh-She k-killed my partner! She m-made him t-turn g-gray like she was and then . . . and then, h-he j-just f-fell apart . . . T-Turned to d-dust!

"She told ya that? Are ya saying she was magic, like a witch?" Bruce pressed him. He knew he should stop but all of his other witnesses were either dead or too young to help. Bruce had been thinking along the lines of an alien but Li making her out to be some kind of sorceress.

"Sh-She never said a w-word but . . . B-But it was th-there, in h-her eyes," Jimmy gasped. He was beginning to hyperventilate. "Y-You knew . . ."

"What about her eyes?"

"Th-They were y-yellow . . . just l-like the damned b-bird's! They c-could s-see into your s-soul!" Li yelled. "Sh-She'll kill y-you!"

The man threw his hands up to cover his face as his shoulders shook. He was weeping now but not silently. No, these were thick, heavy sobs. Although Li was young, he was a police officer. They didn't just break, at least not like this. Just the memory of this woman could reduce him into a quivering mess . . . Li's last words echoed those of Dick's and it alarmed Bruce to think that Dick had the same memories inside of him. It was no wonder the child had refused to answer Leslie's questions, that he had broken down much like this man had.

Bruce pressed the call button for Jimmy. He hoped the nurse had a strong sedative she could give him. Taking the bag of trash with him, Bruce eased out into the hall and pushed his cart around the corner just as he heard the nurse exclaim when she entered Li's room. He moved quickly out of the ward. Deserting the cart next to the stairwell, he began stripping out of his disguise as he climbed the steps leading to the roof. By the time he stepped out onto the rooftop, the janitor was gone.

The footage showed that the woman had come from the museum. That was his next stop. Batman pulled out his grapple gun and shot a line in the direction of the alley where he had parked the Batmobile. He needed to head into the Dead Zone as the press was now calling it. At the center of the zone sat the Bludhaven Museum of Natural History and hopefully the answers to his questions.

* * *

There were roadblocks set up at the perimeter of the Dead Zone. Not wanting to advertise his presence, Batman parked the Batmobile on the outskirts and took to the rooftops. He was close to the roof of the building where the vast majority of the police had reportedly died by mysterious means. He would stop there first and then work his way toward the museum by retracing the steps of the mystery woman and those of his son.

There was plastic covering piles of clothes. If any of the bodies of the men up here had survived the initial transmutation intact, they had since collapsed. Batman kneeled by one of the piles. He couldn't see the contents beneath the plastic as the thin, gray dust had coated the underneath and obscured everything. It was disturbing to think that this was all that was left of a human being.

Of course, this was the fate of every living creature eventually but usually not until time had had a chance to do its job breaking down the body until all that was left was its chemical composite. To think this had happened while the person was still alive was a horrifying concept, one that promised nightmares in the weeks and months to come. He stood and peered around him. Every square foot of the rooftop seemed to be touched by death, of humans and, oddly, of birds: big, black ravens like those that Officer Lie had remarked on.

Death everywhere except, he noted, in one particular spot, several yards from where he stood. As his eyes scanned the rest of the rooftop, he saw there was another second, oddly-barren place further on, opposite that of the first spot.

Batman moved to the initial area that was notably clear of plastic sheeting. Almost six feet in diameter. He stood in the middle of it and stretched out his arms. Someone, just shy of six feet in height, he estimated, had stood there the previous night. He could see now that the roof was finished in asphalt and gravel, similar to what Alfred had picked out of Dickie's shoulder and hip. He swallowed hard, his heart clenching with the realization that it had been Dick standing in this spot, his son in the midst of all of this unexplainable death . . .

 _Dick had been right here when it happened_! _So, why hadn't he died like the others_? _Something had protected him from whatever had killed all of these people._ _And what kind of man am I to be thankful for that? That out of all who had died here, it was my son that had walked away._

 _But not unscathed . . . No,_ _ **something**_ _had happened to Dick while he was here but what_?

The second clear place, near the retaining wall that ran the perimeter, was wide. None of the officers that had met death up here had come within eighteen to twenty feet of the center. It made a large half circle, clear of everything, but dozens of sleek, black feathers that littered the area. As he picked one up for a sample, he couldn't help wondering if it had belonged to the gray woman or one of her ravens.

Batman walked over and looked down at the street below where a dozen more police and rescue workers had been killed. More plastic, more tags. The cars and ambulance still sat where they had been parked, only their lights had been turned off; their doors, however, remained open, giving a surreal aspect to the scene. Not a sound could be heard beyond the occasional shifting of the plastic in the breeze. No gaping crowd, no flash of a photographer's bulb. Eerie.

He shot a line and swung down to the street. It was more of the same here, although here he found the number of dead birds appeared to be higher. That could be an illusion of the mind because they were condensed in a smaller area than that of the rooftop. He turned in the direction of the museum and started walking.

More piles of dust and clothes were held under more sheets of plastic all with yellow labels stating who the emergency workers believed was the identity of the victim. Inside some of the buildings, protected from the wind and elements, labels were placed beside the bodies that had miraculously maintain their forms.

Seeing the gray, shriveled bodies still intact sent a chill of unease through the masked detective. The entire Dead Zone was silent. The feeling that remained was ominous, sinister. Not even the sounds of scurrying rats or the buzzing of an occasional insect marred the deathly quiet. He had a suspicion that the museum held only more of the same.

* * *

As Batman stepped into the museum, he noticed the slightly dusty scent. The wind had cut through the door but with the building mostly enclosed, the remains of the security guards could not escape. Plastic covered the remains but, everywhere he looked, everything was coated in a thin film of gray.

He paused only to slip on a nose filter. The idea of breathing in minute particles of the dead entombed here was a slightly more morbid for even Batman's iron stomach to handle. He moved on.

The blood, dried and old, hardly more than powder now itself, had been spilled before the guards had died.

Strange . . . None of the other victims had died of violence. Those that were still intact had even looked peaceful. Not so these. Another oddity in an otherwise odd case. It was almost as if there had been more than one perpetrator here. Had Nightwing noticed this as well?

A light shone out from a room down a hallway almost like a beacon. It would have drawn any who entered here to it. Batman's gut was telling him that this was where the wave of death had originated from.

Upon entering, it took him no time to discover the room's two remaining victims and more blood. The man on the floor had a tag registering him as Dr. Christian Everhardt. A quick sweep revealed that the office belonged to him. Everhardt, like the guards had been a victim to violence if the blood around what was left of his body was any indication. In one spot was a small footprint . . . likely belonging to the feathered woman. Also, he leaned close to see, another marking near it that resembled a taloned claw of one of the woman's ravens? Near to that was tiny chips of some sort of rock . . . as if a stone had been dropped here and pieces had been broken off.

He glanced about for other clues and noted the opened window. The emergency workers would be careful to keep the scene as pristine as possible so the window would have already have been opened when they entered the room. How, or even if this was pertinent, he couldn't know as yet.

The gray woman with the feathered hair originated somehow from this spot. Had the unfortunate linguist somehow discover a way to open a portal to another dimension and inadvertently let the deadly creature through? The more he discovered, the more questions he had.

The second man in the room was a pile of dust as well. A knife lay nearby unused. Had he been the source of the violent deaths? The man's wallet was lying neatly next to the plastic sheeting, indicating that his body had been disturbed in the emergency workers' attempt to identify him. Gary Middleton, the tag said. Batman opened the wallet and found an employee ID labeling him as a graduate student teaching assistant for Gotham State University.

Was he a murderer or merely an unfortunate in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Batman located a box sitting on the desk unopened from the university. Working carefully, he unwrapped and opened the box. In it sat a small statue, his guess would be of Roman origin, valuable to the museum, perhaps, but this was hardly the proper place for it in the office of a linguist.

Everhardt had been working on something at the time of Middleton's arrival. Tweezers lay out on the table and the lighted magnifying glass was angled as if he had been studying something but whatever it was, was now missing as was the rock. A number of books lay piled on the corner of the desk. Batman picked one up and read the title: Understanding Ancient Religions, Volume 5, Religions of the British Isles . . . He flipped it open to the table of contents and scanned the chapter titles. Sure enough, there was an entire section devoted to Druidism of the Dark Ages.

It wasn't a giant leap to connect whatever happened here to these books. The bookshelves had several gaps in them indicating missing volumes and one of those gaps coincided with Volume 5 of Understanding Ancient Religions. They rested on the desk, close at hand for easy reference to whatever Everhardt was working on at the time. Another title read: Druidic Symbolisms written by Dr. Christian Everhardt, one of the linguist's own works. He turned the pages of Everhardt's book and saw drawings of a number of symbols, several of which sparked a memory. He had seen these before somewhere, and recently.

The box . . .

A light went off inside his brain. The box he had seen in Dick's apartment! It had been covered in strange carvings, hieroglyphics, such as he found here. In investigating these strange deaths, Nightwing had collected the box and whatever else had been here as clues.

Deciding he had gleaned all he could from here, Batman picked up the books on Druidism to study and compare to Dick's box once he was back in the Batcave. With any luck, he would find a clue within their pages as to what kind of alien technology the box had held.

His next stop was Dick's apartment.

* * *

Birds fluttering, flying around him. Wings hitting his face, beating at him. They flew into him, their bodies acting like missiles and they hurt! Golden eyes . . . cold, merciless, and curious stared at him. Fear coursed through him, making him sweat. Terror, making his heart pound against his chest. He wanted to run but his feet wouldn't move. He could taste dust on his tongue, making him want to gag.

Dick jackknifed up in his bed with a cry. He leaned over the side of his bed and coughed, gagging. He was cold and sweaty and his chest hurt from his heart hammering just like it did in the dream . . . But was it a dream? His eyes searched the room, the nightlight helping to illuminate most of it but shadowy corners still remained. Dick stared at the darkness but the inky blackness there refused to give up its secrets . . .

Until the shadows moved.

* * *

The voices were speaking as one, sounding like the roar of the wind that precedes a great storm.

" **What has frightened you, little one?** "

Glowing, golden eyes emerged as the darkness twisted into the form of a woman. She moved with such fluidity that she appeared to be floating. She came to him and sat beside him on the bed. Dickie's breath was sawing in and out of his lungs in panic, his eyes wide. She leaned in and touched the mark of her blessing on his forehead.

Upon the realization that woman from his dreams was real, the boy screamed, backpedaling uselessly on the mattress. He pushed himself back against the headboard until he had nowhere left to which he could flee. She shushed him with a finger over his lips and his screams died in his throat.

" **Be calm** ," she commanded him. " **You are safe from me.** "

 _He doesn't believe me_. She watched the tears streak down his chubby cheeks but he was quiet and his struggles stopped. Slowly, she removed her finger, her talon trailing over his tender lips and catching briefly on his lower one. A ruby bead welled up and slithered down his chin. Unwilling to waste a source of life, she caught the wayward drop on her finger and place it upon her tongue.

" **Now then, child, speak** ," she told him. " **But softly.** "

"I scared," he whispered.

 _Interesting_ , she thought. _He freely admits as a child that which he had worked so hard to hide as an adult. The fear, so similar to the original despite the memory wipe._

" **Yes, I know. You are a very intelligent boy** ," she said. " **And yet, even now, you do not run from me as others would. I think you must be either very brave or very foolish.** "

He frowned at her and looked around the room. "Where to I run?" he asked.

 _Ah, yes. Very intelligent_.

She raised an eyebrow. " **To the boy in the hallway, perhaps? He is hovering outside of your door right now, struggling to find the courage to turn the knob. His fear makes him hesitate.** "

The child looked at the door longingly but didn't move, didn't try to cry out for help. What use was there to yell when his voice had been quieted to a whisper?

" **Or maybe to the old man who sits under the earth awaiting the return of the one in whose house you reside?** " Her eyes dropped down to the floor as if she could see the man she spoke of.

Dickie shivered. "Pease . . . D-Don't hurt them," he begged her in a soft voice.

She glances back to the door. " **Even now, the boy attempts to gather his courage, to push through his fear. Is _he_ another like you?** "

Brave, she thought, the boy in the hall, to the point of foolishness. She wished for privacy. Should he open the door, he would die. So,instead she sent out a wave of terror to keep him in place. A small mercy, saving his life for the child she had blessed. A small hand touched her face. In surprised, she turned to look at her chosen one. The boy had crawled up onto his knees and purposely drew her attention back onto himself.

 _Fascinating_ . . .

"Pease . . . Pease, you no hurt Jason," he asked her, worriedly.

He was trembling, his face wet, and his breaths hitched with silent sobs. _Ah, that's right,_ she had bid him to be quiet.

"No hurt Alfed," he whispered.

" **And what would you give me to let them live?** " she asked curiously.

His little body shook and he cried harder, although no real sound emerged but for his harsh breathing and sniffles.

Dick looked around the room, searching for something of value, but he had no memory of its contents to determine its worth. Dick's head dropped to his lap. All he had to give was himself. "Me?"

She blinked and tilted her head, surprised and delighted by his answer. " ** _You_?** **You would go with me, then?** "

"I no want to," he said.

The words were almost too soft to hear, even for her. But she could hear them in his mind.

" **But you want to save them?** "

He didn't speak but nodded, his eyes still on his lap.

" **I have stripped you of weight of your memories. Took from you your every worry . . . You should not have a care for anyone but yourself and yet you would still seek to save others?** "

"Pease . . ."

" **You want this enough that you would go with me?** "

At his silent nod, she found herself wondering if this was truly his nature or if a remnant of his former self continued to cling to the edges of his mind. She smiled, eager to learn more about this unusual being, this . . . human. There more to be done, however, before she could claim him. The solitary existence she had led had never bothered her before. In truth, it still did not, but she found that she could look to the following eons with something like anxiousness. More than mere duty . . . For the first time in her existence, she would have company. She would consider later how she would keep her own promises.

The boy's head was still bowed as his shoulders shook silently. She leaned down and spoke in his ear.

" **Very well, then.** **I shall return for you soon, my little Night-Wing.** "

Her cold breath on his cheek made him shiver, but when he looked up, she was gone.

* * *

The cry woke Jason from a deep sleep. He jerked upright and listened. Had he dreamed it? He lay back in his bed and closed his eyes, hoping to go back to sleep but the memory hung in his mind heavy. It wouldn't leave him alone.

As his ears strained he thought he could hear someone crying. He sighed. The golden child . . . Bruce's favorite. Jason rolled over and looked at the glowing numbers on his clock. Midnight . . . Bruce wouldn't be back yet. Alfred was down in the Batcave monitoring.

His thought about the child across the hall. Maybe the kid had a nightmare but, with no memories, what was left to scare him? Then Jason remembered the freak-out Dickie had yesterday morning. He blew out his breath in frustration. Maybe he should look in on the kid just to make sure he hadn't fallen out of bed. There was no one else up here to do it at the moment and wouldn't be for a few more hours probably.

He groaned. More than anything, all Jason wanted to do was roll over and go back to sleep but he knew he wouldn't be able to until he got up and checked on the brat. And so it was that Jason was awake when a second scream tore through the manor. He was out of bed before the echo had stopped. There was no mistaking _this_ one.

Jay didn't bother with slippers as he raced out of his door . . . and into something thick and heavy and horrible. He stumbled to a halt in the middle of the hall, his eyes scanning the long corridor for signs of an enemy, his heart attempting to pound its way out of his chest! His knees wobbled as his legs threatened to collapse from underneath of him.

No one . . . There was no one there! He turned around slowly, certain something was stalking him in the shadows but between the low lighting of the hall and the light now streaming from his room, Jason could see that nothing was hiding nearby. The shadows further down created by suits of armor and furnishings didn't appear large enough to hide anything dangerous but the idea that he was under threat refused to dissipate.

Jason glanced back at Dickie's door and licked his lips nervously. Whatever it was he was feeling, it was obvious that the other boy was experiencing it also. He took a few steps closer, and the oppressive weight of fear grew exponentially. He was panting by the time he stood next to the door. It was coming from the room! Whatever it was, it was in Dickie's room!

He stepped away in order to grab a candlestick from the nearest side table. Jason set the candle aside and gripped the ornate, silver stick in sweaty hands and tiptoed back. Tears welled and seeped from the corners of his eyes.

He suddenly wanted to run . . . Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to run to Alfred in the Batcave. There were weapons down there! There were vehicles that they could use to escape but Jason remembered promising the boy in there that he would protect him. He closed his eyes and cursed his memory.

He _hated_ this kid! He _did_! But he couldn't leave him . . . He had promised. Had Grayson been the adult he was when Jay had met him, he wouldn't have any compunction about leaving him to his own devices. The guy had kicked his ass without even breaking a sweat. But the kid on the other side of that door wasn't that guy anymore. He was just a little thing now.

Jason was trembling and a cold sweat dripped off the tip of his nose. He tightened his grip on the candlestick and leaned his ear against the door . . . and heard . . . voices? His heart thumped hard at the realization that Dickie wasn't in there alone.

Swallowing, he tried to hear what was being said. Could it be Alfred, come up to check on the boy himself? It sounded strange, as if there were several people speaking but Jason somehow knew there wasn't a crowd in there. He decided, too, that it was definitely a woman's voice he was listening to.

A woman? The feathered woman from the video flashed in his head. The woman they suspected had killed all those people in Bludhaven! Could it be her in Dickie's room? Bruce was sure there had been some kind of link between the dead and Grayson's age-reversal, and they suspected the strange zombie woman was it.

Was she, even now, sucking the life out of Grayson? Would he walk in to find one of those shrivel statues or a pile of gray dust in his place? What the hell could Jason do to stop it? What would Bruce say if Jason didn't even try? But the very idea of opening that door terrified him!

It took intense concentration to let go of the candlestick with one hand. It hovered there above the handle as if some barrier stood in his way. He couldn't make his hand grab the door handle! Then he heard more speaking . . .

" **And what would you give me to let them live?** "

Jason's heart leapt into his throat. She was going to kill them? Like those people in the video?

" **You?** **You would go with me, then?** " the woman said.

 _What_? She was going to take the kid away with her? _What the fuck_? Wasn't it enough that she shrunk him and swiped all his memories?

" **But you want to save them?** "

She was talking but, try as he might, Jason couldn't hear Dickie's answers. _Why Dick wasn't saying anything_? _Had she already hurt him? Is that why he wasn't answering?_ Jason forced his hand an inch closer but he would swear that there was some kind of force preventing him from gripping the door handle. Sweat beaded up on his forehead as he forgot the woman and just concentrated on moving his hand.

More words but he wasn't listening. It didn't matter, though . . . All that mattered was grabbing the handle. Jason gritted his teeth with the effort, panting. And then . . . and then . . .

The force vanished! As he was released, Jason's hand slammed hard into the metal latch! He grunted in pain. His hand would be bruised in the morning.

 _Dickie_! _Did she take him_?

* * *

Batman was on his way back to the Batcave when Alfred contacted him. The box sat on the seat next to him with the books that promised to deliver to him its secrets as well as a worn-out but much-loved stuffed elephant that he had brought from Dick's apartment on a whim. He now had more information but, so far, no answers. But they would come now, he was sure of it. He only needed to get his discoveries back to the cave where he could study it. His mind was already sifting through the assortment of tests he could run on the box and its contents.

He hadn't bothered going through it. More than enough time once he had it home. He didn't want to risk Dick's neighbors hearing him although he moved carefully through the apartment like a shadow, silently. He took only enough time to search the apartment to make certain there wasn't anything else that might pertain to this case or Dick's transformation before taking the box and heading home.

Answering Alfred's call, he couldn't stop himself from cursing whatever emergency had arisen that needed his attention.

"I'm here. Go ahead, Agent A," he growled into the comlink.

"Thank God," Alfred answered, his voice distraught. "Sir, you're needed at home immediately."

Batman's foot automatically slammed on the gas, increasing its speed dramatically in response to the older man's tone. He had never heard Alfred sound so out of sorts. His British stiff-upper-lip always managed to assert itself, even during times of emergency.

"What's happened?" he demanded to know.

As if to alarm him further, Batman listened as Alfred stammered in obvious fear and less than coherent. He shoved the vehicle into overdrive, taking the next turn at speeds that had the Batmobile drifting around the corner in a squeal of rubber and smoke.

"Is it Scarecrow?" he barked through the com system. "Have you and the boys been exposed to fear gas?"

Being outside of the city limits, something like this was unheard of at the manor. Never had Crane's gas swept up into Bristol country from the city limits without dispersing to easily manageable levels. And both the manor and the Batcave were equipped with the most advanced, top-of-the-line, air filtration systems that would make even an assault directly outside of the manor negligible so long as the windows and doors remained sealed. In the bitter March temperatures, he couldn't imagine Jason would open a window and Dickie simply wasn't tall or strong enough at present to manage it himself.

"I-I cannot say . . ." Alfred gasped after several moments. "I'm unable to ascend the st-stairs to the manor to check on them."

"What? Why?" _What is happening there_? He tore past the Gotham City limits sign. He was still another twenty minutes away as he circled the city. _Damn it_!

"I don't know! But there is some force that prevents me," Alfred answered. He sounded very close to tears!

"What force? Can you describe it?"

None of his regular enemies had that kind of technology even had they known the location of the Batcave. Was it an enemy of the League? Still, only one of the League members could access the cave without clearance. This didn't sound like the Man of Steel.

"I can only describe it as terror, sir. It feels as though death itself stalks me. I swear to you, to push onward I believe would cause my heart to burst in my chest. _The boys_! I cannot get to the boys!"

"I'm still fifteen minutes out, Alfred," he no longer bothered with code names. "I'm on my way. Can you hack into Arkham and check on Crane's whereabouts?"

This sounded like Scarecrow doing. What was that madman up to? From the sounds of it, this was the most potent fear gas he has ever manage to engineer.

"According to the computer," Alfred ground out with a whimper, "Crane is still in his cell. Dear Lord, please, hurry! If anything were to happen to the boys . . ."

Batman raced through the backroads in an effort to avoid any traffic in hopes of shaving a few minutes from his time.

 _Hang on, Alfred_ , he begged silently, praying that Jason had the foresight to check on Dick. If the boys were together, they might have a better chance of withstanding the whatever the hell this was. _I'm coming_!

* * *

Jason ripped open the door and rushed into the room, his candlestick raised but there was nothing there. Nothing but the kid, who was currently shaking so hard Jason could see it in the dim light from all the way across the room. Dick's face was buried in his hands but he wasn't making a sound. The boy must have heard him because he looked up startled and saw Jason standing there.

His mouth moved but, at first, no sound emerged. And then, abruptly, it did.

" _Jason_!"

Dickie lunged for him and Jason had to move quickly to catch the boy before he fell off of the bed in his race to get to him. Jason dropped the candlestick on the floor. It thumped on the thick carpet and rolled under the bed as Dick slammed into him. So hard, in fact, Jay nearly lost his balance under the weight of the weeping child.

"Jay! She here! _She_ _ **here**_!"

Strangled sobs assaulted Jason's ears as the child bawled like his heart was breaking. It was weird how it happened. As if someone had just released the mute button and sound suddenly returned to normal.

"She's gone now, Dickie," he told the boy. "She's gone. I've got you now. Don't cry."

He wrapped his arms around the sodden boy. Dickie was soaked in sweat much like Jason himself. He picked the boy up and turned around, searching the corners of the room once more but the threat, if it was ever here, was gone as if it had never existed. _Did they dream the whole thing_?

But no . . . He remembered the dread that had kept him frozen in the hallway and he looked down at his bruised palm. Whatever it was had really happened and the gray woman had been in Dickie's room.

He shivered a little in the chill of the night. They couldn't stay here. Not like this, anyway. Jason tried to put Dick down but the boy was having none of it. He clung to Jay like a leech.

"It's okay," he crooned in the child's ear. "I won't let her take you."

How he would stop her should she come back Jason didn't know but, for now, he wouldn't let the boy out of his sight. He carried the three-year-old back to his own room and closed the door. He set Dick on his bed, the child clawing at his t-shirt, before rushing back over to lock it. He smiled soothingly as he turned back around.

"There," he promised. "All safe and sound in my room."

But honestly, Jay didn't feel all that safe in here either. His eyes snagged on the drapes that hid his windows and he moved toward them purposely. He couldn't remember if they were locked or not. Surely, they were but it couldn't hurt to check, he thought to himself.

Jay climbed up on his window seat and tugged the draperies back when something big and black slammed into the window. It startled him so badly, he fell backward onto the floor. Dick had started screaming again but Jason didn't blame him a bit. He stared, horrified, as two ravens fluttered and flapped against the glass panes in a vain effort to get into the room.

 _Ravens_! _Just like those birds in the video that followed that witch around_!

Biting his lip, nervously, Jason slowly edged to his feet. His eyes moved to the lock on the window. It was latched. He thanked God for small miracles and gathered his courage. In a flash of movement, Jay leapt up onto the seat again and yanked the drapes closed. But the birds had seen them; they knew the boys were in the room.

There were more thumps and then pecking. The birds were pecking at the glass trying to get in! _Could they do it_? _Would they break the glass_? _What then_?

Jason spun around and pulled Dickie into his arms as he unlocked the door. He ran back into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind them. The birds might be able to break the glass if they tried hard enough but they'd never get through a solid oak door! He backed away as they both stared hard at the room, listening for breaking glass, but none came.

He glanced down the hall towards the stairs. He could take Dick to the Batcave and Alfred but then he remembered he wasn't allowed to take the boy there anymore. Too dangerous, Bruce had said . . . But how much more dangerous was it up here with crazed ravens and a gray woman trying to get them?

Unsure what else to do, Jason scanned the hallway for a solution. His eyes landed on the double doors leading to Bruce's room. It couldn't be any safer as it also had windows but the birds wouldn't know they were there if they were quiet.

 _God_! _This is a stupid idea_!

"Dickie, listen me," Jason said. The boy had his face tucked into his neck, forcing Jay to make Dick look at him. "I need you to be quiet, okay? We're going to hide in Bruce's room but if we make sounds, the birds might hear us. Do you understand?"

Huge, cerulean-blue eyes stared at him.

"Do you hear me? We have to be quiet now so the birds don't hear us. That way, they won't know where we are. Okay?"

Dick's breath hitched as he struggled to calm himself down. He nodded. "'Kay," he whispered.

"Right . . . That's right. Sh," he whispered back as they inched towards Bruce's doors. "Quiet."

Dickie nodded again and returned to his place of safety, hiding his face in the curve of Jay's neck and shoulder. Jason paused at the doors and pressed his ear to the crack between them. No sound. No fluttering or pecking could be heard. Taking a breath, he turned the handle and eased the door open softly.

It was dark in the room. Not a drop of light crept through the heavy drapes that lined the windows in the room. The bit that entered from the hall illuminated the large, four-poster bed and showed Jason where to go. He closed the door behind him and tiptoed cautiously across the floor, pausing when a floorboard creaked beneath his foot. Nothing happened. No sounds from outside erupted.

Believing they had fooled the birds and were safe for now, Jason pulled back the covers and shoved Dick into the bed. He crawled in after the boy, pulling the crisp, Egyptian-cotton sheets and the heavy covers up to their ears. Dick squirmed until he was pressed up against the older boy.

They were still both soaked in sweat and tears but there was no way he was running a bath or changing their clothes now. Morning would have to be soon enough. He stared nervously at the heavy drapes of the large window across the room, terrified at what might be lurking beyond them. He hadn't felt like this since he was Dickie's age.

Jay felt certain he wouldn't be able to sleep until Bruce came home. But as their combined body heat began warming the bed and, between Dickie's rhythmic breathing and his own exhaustion, Jason's eyes drooped until he, too, fell into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Don't know about you but I kind of scared myself here.**

 **Heads up! I am now about 4 weeks or so til I move across country from my home in Arizona to North Carolina. Good news is that I will be posting earlier for you when I start up again, the bad news is that I may not have another chance to post to this story until sometime in mid to late April. So, if you don't see anything new for a few weeks, that is what's happening. But I will be popping on to check for PMs and answer reviews during that time, so I'll still be around.**

 **I have one other chapter that is nearly ready to go for "Second Chances" that I will likely post in the next day or so, and then that's it for a while. BUT in other good news, I have a new story coming out sometime in May that I'm writing with another author called "Shattered". It will be listed under** **Goingdownwithmyshipz ' name as it is her idea. (And such a good idea, it is!) No worries, though. I'll be posting updates on my profile for "Shattered" as well as they come out.**

 **Now, be sweet and tell me what you thought about THIS chapter!**


	11. Stolen Memories

**Warning: Language . . .**

* * *

Batman leapt from the Batmobile and ran for the steps leading to the manor without bothering to turn off the car or even shut the door. The Batcave was large but it was also enclosed, the cavern sitting too far from any entrance to do any good without help from artificial means. It wasn't an issue, however, as the state-of-the-art ventilation system would filter out the carbon monoxide fumes long before they could build up.

He didn't see Alfred. That could only mean that the fear gas had either been eradicated or the man had managed to inoculate himself. Batman had returned his nose filter to his face upon entering the cave system; he wouldn't be able to tell without testing the air if it were safe to take the filter off and he had no time for that. He paused only to check the security system for the manor but, at least according to the computer, the manor was secure.

Taking the steps to the manor two at a time, Batman exited through the clock, not bothering to seal the door in his haste to locate his family. He had only just reached the foyer and the stairs leading to the first floor when he met Alfred. The older man held his shotgun in his hands. It was the only firearm that Bruce tolerated in the house but, even then, it remained safely ensconced in Alfred's room unless an emergency drove the man to retrieve it.

"The gun is unnecessary," Batman told him as they both moved up the stairs. "The manor hasn't been breached." He took in his butler's disheveled appearance with alarm, however. Alfred never appeared unkempt. "Are you alright?"

"The feeling of terror seemed to disintegrate, almost as if it had never been, not long ago," Alfred explained. He preferred to keep hold of his firearm rather than leave it unattended with a child in the house. Dick had always been well-versed in firearms since coming to them, Bruce made certain of it since they faced them every night but, with his memory loss and childlike mindset, they couldn't be too careful.

Alfred continued, "The antidote to the fear gas also turned out to be unnecessary. If this is Scarecrow, sir, his toxin, while more powerful than any previously known formulas, isn't nearly as long lasting as those earlier incarnations. Perhaps this was a test run to determine its effectiveness in the field?"

Bruce removed the nose filters but it was as Alfred said, no symptoms were left to affect him. Tucking them into his belt, they ran down the hall.

"Sir," Alfred indicated his cowl. "Without his memories, Master Dick has never met the Batman. I couldn't say if the boys experienced the same terror that I did but, if so, Master Dick may panic at the sight of a giant bat standing in his doorway."

"Good point," Bruce agreed, shoving back the cowl. Hopefully, the boy would be sleeping peacefully in his bed, unaware of what all had been happening below the manor. "I'll check on Dick! You see to Jason!"

Alfred moved to the door directly across the hall from Dick's as each boy's room flanked that of the master's bedroom. Bruce opened the door to Dick's room and sucked in his breath at the sight of an empty bed. The covers were twisted and tossed back, a pillow on the floor, all of it indicating the child had left it in a rush. He moved to the bathroom and then the closet, searching for a place the boy might have hidden. He checked behind furniture and under the bed. He glanced up at Alfred's footsteps.

"He's not here," he announced. "Jason?" But he already knew the answer from Alfred's expression.

"His bed has been abandoned as well, I fear," Alfred answered, worry marring the edges of his British calm. "Obviously, the phenomenon occurred in the manor as well and I would venture a guess that the boys are together . . . somewhere. Perhaps hiding in one of the other rooms?"

"There are literally hundreds of places that they could hide," Bruce lamented. "But, certainly, they would have tried to reach you?" Bruce wondered. "Jason knows that we kept the antidote to the fear gas in the Batcave." He began opening doors to the bedrooms that led towards the stairs. Jason would have headed in this direction, surely.

"That is _if_ he linked the fear he was feeling with an attack by Scarecrow," Alfred said, moving along with him. He opened doors on the opposite side of the hall. "Is it possible that someone might have managed to bypass the manor's security?"

"No," Bruce said as he paused to look at the older man. "There are too many safeguards. Even if someone managed to get past the cameras, the motion sensors should have caught him and, if not that, then an alarm would have sounded as soon as the seal was broken on a door or window."

"Then where are the children?"

"I don't know. One of us should have met them on our way up here." Bruce looked up and down the hall. "Jason! Dick," he called out. The men listened but the manor remained silent. "Boys, come out! It's safe now!"

"They could have hidden anywhere if they were being chased by their own nightmares," Alfred pointed out. "Although, I admit, I experienced no hallucinations, only a terrific emotional response. It was a heavy dread with no clear source but it prevented me from climbing the stairs to the manor."

Bruce shook his head. "Then they are still in hiding but where else would they have gone if not to the cave?"

"Somewhere that represented a safe haven for them," Alfred theorized. He exclaimed as the answer came to him suddenly. "Of course, sir! How could we not have considered this?"

"This what?" Bruce asked as he followed his butler back down the hallway. "You've thought of something."

"For the very reason we expected them to go to the cave," Alfred reasoned. "It isn't the cave itself that represents safety, sir. It is _you_! They would have wanted _you_!"

"But I wasn't here," Bruce said, guilt washing over him. "Jason should have known that. It would have been too early for me to have come back, even from a normal patrol."

"Perhaps they couldn't reach the cave for the same reasons I couldn't reenter the manor. If that was the case, they would have chosen to hide in a space that represented you," Alfred replied as he stopped in front of the master suite.

"That makes no sense," Bruce argued. "By that argument, they should have headed to the study, at least. I spend far more time there. Jason should realize that . . ."

"The study would have meant having to traverse the stairs. The lower level would have seemed like a shadowy unknown to them. To a terrified child, your bedchamber would make perfect sense," Alfred insisted.

 _Could it really be that simple_? Bruce opened the door, praying the older man was right . . . and he was, as usual . . . He spotted both boys immediately, curled up together in the middle of his bed, safe, thank God!

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and considered the two children he had taken responsibility for. Dick was tucked up as close to Jason as he could possibly get, his thumb back in his mouth as he sucked furiously, a frown marring that baby face. As Bruce pulled back the covers, he noted that Jason's arms were wrapped tightly, protectively, around the younger child.

The sigh of relief that left him was two-fold. The boys were safe, yes, but Bruce could see now that whatever jealousy that Jason might have felt, it had not prevented him from protecting Dickie. It relieved Bruce to know that his initial judgment of the older boy's character was correct, that underneath his jealousy and anger, Jason Todd had a good heart . . . The boy was, indeed, a true hero at his core.

"Jason, wake up, son." Bruce shook the boy's shoulder lightly. "What happened here?"

Jason blinked and then, seeing Bruce there still in his costume, sat up suddenly. The stark fear was still evident as Jay immediately searched for Dick. His relief was fleeting as the events of the night replayed in his head. Although the younger child's frown deepened at the movements and he whined in distress, Dick didn't awaken immediately.

"He was right," Jay whispered frantically. "I heard the voices coming from his room! There was somebody, or maybe it was a bunch of somebodies, I don't know for sure, but . . ."

"Hold up, Jason," Bruce soothed. "Take a deep breath . . . release it slowly. You're safe now. There is only Alfred and I here."

The teen seemed to come to himself upon hearing Bruce's words. He forced himself to breathe as he was instructed one, two, three times. It helped calm him down.

"Now, start again and tell me what happened."

* * *

Jason shuddered at the memory. "Something woke me up," he began. "I wasn't sure what it was at first but figured the little guy here had a bad dream. I knew you weren't back yet and that Al – Alfred was probably still down in the Batcave, so I got up to check on him."

Bruce nodded his approval. "Good. That was the responsible thing to do . . . Go on."

Jason ducked his head a little at the small praise . . . felt nice after the night before.

"But when I opened my door . . ." Jay's breathing increased at the memory. "I . . . There was something there."

"In the hall?" Bruce frowned. "Something or someone?"

"Yes . . . I mean, no," Jason looked around the room, confused. "The hall was empty but it wasn't! There was something there that made it hard to breathe, hard to move."

Alfred nodded, knowingly. "Yes, lad. I could feel it, too, in the cave. A force of dread."

Jason nodded frantically at Alfred's description. _That was it exactly_! "It was like trying to slog through knee-high mud. It was everything I could do to reach Dickie's door but . . ." his face scrunched in distress, "I couldn't open it." He looked up imploringly. "I tried but I couldn't do it."

"The door was locked?" Bruce asked him.

"I don't know. I don't think so . . . I just . . . I couldn't grab the handle," Jason dipped his head in shame. "I tried, though. I really tried! But something was holding me back."

"I'm sure you did everything you could, Jason," Bruce soothed. "Go on. What happened next? You said you heard voices . . ."

"Yeah! It sounded like more than one but they were all speaking at the same time, saying the same things all together." Jason shivered. "It was crazy but I could feel it rumbling in my chest. You know . . . like when the bass is turned up too high on the radio."

It was clear that Bruce was having trouble believing him but he didn't say so. He just encouraged him to continue.

"Go on, Jason. What were they saying?"

The boy frowned as he concentrated on remembering. "There was a woman's voice that you could hear above the other voices. She said 'What would you give me to let them live?'." He shuddered again. His damp pajamas were giving him chills. "I think . . . I think it was that woman . . . in the video. I think she was planning to kill us."

Bruce's attention, if anything, became more intense at this. "What makes you say that? Did you see her? The woman? What did Dick say?"

Jason shook his head. "I couldn't see anyone. I was stuck in the hall during it all. And I couldn't hear Dickie's voice but I think he answered her because she continued talking." His hand dropped down onto the restless child's shoulder. "She asked him if he wanted to save us and . . . and if he was willing to go with her."

Bruce glanced down at the restless child.

"I-I was afraid he would be gone when I finally was able to get the door open but he was still there," Jason said, "No one else was, though. But then it got even weirder."

"How is that?" Bruce's gaze was back on his face.

"It was like Dickie was talking to me but I couldn't hear him speaking. His mouth was moving but the volume had been turned down, you know?" Jason explained. "Then, like someone flipped a switch, I could suddenly hear him. He was crying. He ran to me and was yelling that the woman had been there. At first, I took him back to my room . . ."

A cry interrupted him as Dick sat up, wild-eyed. "Flutterbies! They get us!" He turned as saw Bruce and Alfred but zeroed in on Jason. Dick flung his arms around Jay's neck. "Did they get you, Jay? Did they?"

Jason patted the boy's back. "No. No, I'm okay. They didn't get in, Dickie. You're dreaming."

"Flutterbies?" Bruce asked. "You _know_ what he's talking about?"

The fear had reentered Jason's eyes. "Yeah, I know what they are. They were birds! Big, black birds, and they were outside my window, pecking on the glass like they were trying to get in. I-I thought they were going to break the glass."

"Ravens," Bruce answered for him.

"Yeah! That's it. Ravens," Jason nodded. "That's why we came here. You aren't mad, are you?"

"No. Of course not," Bruce assured him. "But why didn't you go to the Batcave?"

Jason blinked, confused by the question. "You told me not to, remember? And you said Dickie wasn't allowed there anymore."

* * *

Unfortunately, Bruce did remember and cursed himself for his harsh words earlier. Jason had ignored the safety the cave represented because of his orders and stayed upstairs with Dick. Had the manor actually been breached, would Jason have tried to take on the intruders alone rather than run to the cave with Dick? He would need to correct that. His thoughts were interrupted as Dick stretched out his arms for Bruce.

"Birds! Flutterbies! They try get us," the boy yelped, his fear still prominent in his blue eyes.

Bruce picked Dick up and set him in his lap. He ran a hand over the boy's sweat-dampened hair and then plucked at Jason's shirt. "You are both soaked through. Alfred, can you collect some dry pajamas for them."

"Of course, sir. At once," Alfred agreed, turning on his heel he left the room.

"Sounds like you've had an exciting evening so far," Bruce told them. "You're safe now, so we need to get you both cleaned up and back into bed."

Jason's eyes widened as he eyed the dim expanse of the hall beyond. "I'm not sleepy," he declared.

The older boy attempted valiantly to hide his sudden panic but Bruce noticed. Dickie didn't even try to hide it. He clutched Bruce's neck tightly, burying his face in his shoulder with a whine. Bruce sighed. There was no help for it. The boys had been through a terrifying ordeal tonight and trying to sleep in the rooms in which episodes had occurred would be naught but an effort in futility. He would be cruel to force it.

"I think, in light of the situation, I'd prefer to keep you both close tonight. You can sleep in here, in my bed," Bruce told them magnanimously.

"Really?" Jason gaped at him, hopefully. " _Both_ of us?"

"Of course," he told him.

He noted the relief in Jason expression as well as the slight flush of embarrassment for being so needy. Bruce understood. Jay was worried that he wouldn't be taken seriously after needing to sleep with someone. Bruce decided to give him an excuse. "Dick seems to feel safer with you around. If you wouldn't mind, that is."

Jason's gaze flew to Dick. The toddler happily assisted Bruce's narrative by reaching for Jay again. The teen took the boy into his lap almost gratefully.

"But where are _you_ going to sleep?"

Bruce smiled slightly as he gazed on his enormous California king mattress. "It is a _big_ bed, Jason," he said. "I think it has the space to hold us all comfortably."

Dick perked up at the news that both Jason and Bruce would be here with him. He jumped up from Jason's lap and bounced on the springy mattress. "Big bed! Big bed! Bwoose has great, big bed," he yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Be careful there, chum," Bruce warned. "Your sense of balance isn't what it used to be."

It was true. It was yet another aspect of Dick's transformation that worried him. What else had been stripped from his boy besides his memories and what Bruce had always assumed was an ingrained spatial sense that allowed Dick to so easily perform his amazing feats of aerial acrobatics? The child wasn't exactly clumsy now but Bruce suspected that he had been far more graceful at this age his first time around. Perhaps if he began working with him as he knew John and Mary Grayson had done . . .

"Bawance," Dickie repeated and threw himself in Bruce's direction, trusting blindly in the man's ability to catch him.

Bruce caught him easily and held him against his chest. Dick paused in his squirming to finger Batman's cape. Bruce had almost forgotten he still wore the costume. Dick seemed to noticed the bat on his chest for the first time.

"Ba-lll-ance," Bruce corrected. He said it slowly for him, emphasizing the 'L's'.

Dick occasionally had a little trouble with his 'L's' and his 'R's'. Although, he was hoping to have this age-reversal undone soon, it couldn't hurt to work on a few things in the meantime . . . _Just in case_ , he grimaced. While he certainly didn't begrudge having to raise the boy to adulthood a second time, he was sure that Dick would prefer to be returned to his previous incarnation. Bruce couldn't help but wonder, however, if he could manage to get it right this time around should the worst happen and the boy would need to grow up again in real time.

"Bal-lance," Dick repeated obediently but he wasn't paying that much attention. His gaze was fastened on Bruce's chest. "What this?" he asked, tracing the symbol with a finger.

"What does it look like," Bruce asked, wanting to test the boy's knowledge and memory.

Dickie's eyes widened. "Bird. Big, black bird," he said, looking up at Bruce anxiously. "Flutterby?"

"No," he assured the boy. "It's not a raven."

"It's a bat, Dickie," Jason volunteered. "You've never seen a bat before?"

Bruce remained silent in order to hear the boy's answer. Dick stared hard at the emblem, shaking his head slowly. He frowned.

"Bat no eat me?"

Bruce was careful to hide his disappointment. "No, of course not. The bat won't eat you, Dickie."

"Flutterbies eat me . . ." he told him seriously.

"You don't have to worry about the that anymore, chum. The bat won't let anyone eat you."

"Pomise?"

He looked Dick directly in his eyes. "I promise," he swore solemnly.

"Jason?" Dick asked worriedly. "Will flutterbies eat Jason?"

"No, Dickie," Bruce answered firmly but, this time, he was looking at Jason as he said it. Bruce knew the older boy had been shaken by the ravens' attempt to get through his window. "The bat will not let them eat Jason, either."

"Alfed? They eat Alfed?"

"Indeed, I should say not, Master Dick," Alfred answered for himself as he reentered the room. He held stacks of sheets and clean pajamas in his hands.

"Most definitely not," Bruce agreed. "They wouldn't dare!"

But Dick wasn't done yet. "Flutterbies not eat bat either?" he asked, patting the bat on Bruce's chest.

"Nothing can eat the bat, Dickie," Jason declared. "Those ugly, black birds don't stand a chance against the bat!"

Dick didn't look entirely convinced by Jason's declaration. "Ugy," he agreed, however.

"Ug-Lee," Bruce enunciated for him automatically.

"Ug-Lee,' Dick repeated.

"It's very late," Alfred announced. "You both need to bathe before going back to bed. Jason, you can use Master Bruce's shower this time. I will run the water for Master Dick's bath."

Bruce set Dick down and watched as Jason led him into the bathroom. Alfred set his pile of linen on the dresser, pausing before he joined the boys in the bathroom.

"I took the liberty of going downstairs and turning the car off, sir. I also noticed this on the passenger seat next to a large box," Alfred said as he tugged a worn, toy elephant from between the folded linen. He handed Bruce the familiar stuffed animal with a knowing smile.

Bruce shrugged as he handled the much-loved toy. "I thought he might appreciate having it now. Eleanor gave him such comfort when he first arrived here."

"I remember," Alfred nodded. "Now, why don't you go change while I get the boys bathed and replace your damp sheets for some dry ones?"

"How about you change the sheets while I take care of the boys?" Bruce suggested instead. "I can change once they are tucked in."

"You have more to do tonight, sir?"

"The box," Bruce said by way of explanation. "I think it may be the key we need to discovering the Gray Woman's identity and, perhaps, what her purpose is here. If we are lucky, it might even provide a clue as to how we can contain her."

"Will you be staying up all night?" Alfred asked, his disapproval easily read in his voice to one so familiar with him.

"No," Bruce reassured him. "It's late and the boys have had a harrowing night so far. I want to simply start the computer to analyzing several of the substances I found. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough to begin deciphering the hieroglyphics that are etched on the box."

In truth, Bruce wanted nothing more than to stay up and search for answers but he had made a promise to the boys that he would be there for them tonight. He had a feeling that both would be plagued by nightmares otherwise. He was getting tired himself and he hoped by getting a few hours' rest, he would have a clearer head. Discovering the secrets of the box might give them the answers he was looking for.

* * *

Jason was showered and changed before Bruce had managed to get Dick into his tub. Bruce quickly realized that maybe his enormous bathtub might not be the best choice for bathing a very young child. Dick had used his tub before but Bruce was discovering distinct differences in aiding a mostly independent eight-year-old and bathing a hyperactive three-year-old. Jason proved to be no help at all, being too busy laughing to be of any real assistance.

In the end, Bruce had been forced to shuck his costume altogether after having to dive to Dick's rescue when the boy slipped and ducked under the water. The child came up sputtering and laughing while Bruce had struggled to climb out of the tub. He had been soaked to his utility belt during their little adventure. Happily, the belt was waterproof, even if the rest of him was not.

Alfred had finished the boy's bath while Bruce had stripped and showered.

Normally, Bruce seldom wore more than his boxer-briefs to bed. Tonight, he exited the bathroom in a full set of pajamas that, strangely, bore an uncanny resemblance to the boys' attire. Bruce didn't even realize he still owned a pair of pajamas and the detective in him suspected that the ones he was wearing now were a more recent purchase . . . as were the ones that Jason and Dick both sported. The flash of a camera bulb confirmed it for him.

Alfred smirked as he quickly pocketed the device. It had been years since the butler had resorted to such clandestine means of gaining his photo memories. Bruce tugged on his robe.

"You aren't coming to bed," Jason asked, trying to hold onto the bouncing toddler.

"I have a few tests I want to run first," Bruce admitted. At the looks of disappointment and anxiety on young faces, he assured them he wouldn't be long. "I'll be right back up in a few minutes. Alfred can stay with you in the meantime," he offered.

Bruce paused and picked up the stuffed toy from where he had set it on his dresser. He walked back over to where Dick was squirming on the bed. "I have something for you, Dickie," he told the boy.

Catching sight of the stuffed animal, Dick crawled over the covers to where Bruce stood.

"What that?" the boy asked curiously.

"You don't remember this?" Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head as he took the toy and turned it over in his hands. His fingers stroked the long trunk. "What this?"

"That's its trunk, chum. Elephants have trunks for noses," Bruce frowned at the child's ignorance of what had been Dick's favorite animal.

"Elephant," Dick repeated as he studied the scruffy creature. He nodded and started to hand the toy back to Bruce.

He blinked. "It's yours, Dickie. It's Eleanor the elephant. Don't you remember? Your parents gave this to you for your birthday . . ."

 _How could the boy not remember something that had held such a place of importance in his heart_? Dick had adored the toy, to the point of not being able to sleep without it during his first few years here. Pain stabbed Bruce's heart as he looked down at the abandoned toy.

"It not mine," Dick told him.

"Yes, it is," he insisted, holding the elephant out to him again. "It is yours. Please . . . I want you to have it."

Dick plucked the toy out of Bruce's hands and held it against his chest but there was no sign of recognition there. He was merely taking it because it was what Bruce had wanted him to do.

"A present?" he chirped, smiling. "Thankoo," he said happily, running the two words together.

Bruce sighed sadly and ruffled the boy's still-damp hair. "You're welcome."

"Perhaps a bedtime story," Alfred suggested into the awkward silence that followed, "to settle the nerves while we wait for Master Bruce's return?"

"I'm not nervous," Jason denied. Dark-circles shadowed the teenager's eyes, however, and proved that nightmares continued to plague the boy's sleep and Bruce was sure that tonight's adventure promised to add to them. "And I'm too old for bedtime stories."

"Of course, you are, Master Jason," Alfred soothed. "But the same cannot be said for your companion."

Dick was busy crawling under the covers but the child was far from settling down. His dark head poked out. "Story? You read story, Alfed?"

"That I shall, young sir. Do you have a favorite in mind?" the butler asked. But Dick only shook his head as he sat down beside Jason. His new toy was sat down beside him, its trunk held loosely in one hand, already half-forgotten.

"I don't know no stories," the boy claimed, shaking his head.

Bruce hesitated at the door, shoving down the second sharp, stab of pain to his heart that night. He had spent many a night reading bedtime stories to Dick during his first few years at the manor. The Gray Woman had apparently taken Dick's good memories along with the bad and left the child without _any_ of his most-treasured experiences at all.

"Peter Pan," Bruce called back over his shoulder. Dick had always loved that the title character had the ability to fly and Bruce suspected Jason would have, at least, a passing interest in the Lost Boys. He wondered if Jason's mother had ever taken the trouble to read to him but thought that it wasn't a likely scenario. "They might enjoy listening to 'The Adventures of Peter Pan'," he suggested.

"Ah, an excellent choice, Master Bruce," Alfred agreed.

"I'll be back up before you know it," Bruce winked in the direction of the bed before ducking out of the room.

* * *

Jason watched as Bruce disappeared down the hall and suspected that he would get caught up in his investigation rather than return to bed as he promised. When Alfred returned to the room with the book, he rolled his eyes.

"I'm too old for stories," he reminded the older man, "but you can read to Dickie." Jason laid back onto the extra soft pillows that littered Bruce's bed.

Dick watched Jason and followed suit. "I too old, too," he declared, even as he scuttled over against Jason's side.

"Neither of you wish to hear a story, then?" Alfred questioned them. "It might make sleep come easier."

"I'm good, Alfred," Jay told him.

Dick looked disappointed but snuggled closer to Jason. "I good, too."

Jason frowned at the little boy. "You should listen to the story, Dickie. You wouldn't be so scared."

Dick blinked up at him with his big, blue eyes. "Jason scared?"

"No, I'm not scared but you are."

Dick shook his head so hard his bangs fell back into his eyes. "I not scared either."

Jason sat up and glared at the boy. "Yes, you are!"

Dick sat up and stared up at him. "No, I not."

"Then why are you all squished up against me if you're not scared?" Jay challenged.

Dickie opened and shut his mouth but didn't move from his spot. After a second, he said, "I no scared. I cold."

Jason stared back at the boy. "Cold?" In their flannel pajamas and tucked up under Bruce's luxurious feather comforter, Jason felt toasty warm, not cold.

Dick smiled.

Jason's mouth lifted on one side. He chuckled. "Fine. I'm cold, too, squirt," he admitted and threw his arm around the toddler's shoulders. Dick snuggled even closer. "I guess, listening to a chapter wouldn't be so bad," he told Alfred.

Dick beamed. "I listen, too! It not too bad!"

Alfred nodded his head sagely and sat down in the chair next to the bed. "Very good," he murmured in approval.

Clearing his throat, Alfred began . . .

* * *

Bruce plucked the symbol-laden box from the seat of the car and carried it towards the lab. It wasn't locked. Inside, he discovered a large geode with flecks of black on it similar to what he had found in the office at the museum. Also, there were at least a dozen carefully-bagged samples that he suspected that Nightwing had taken during his own investigation. Bruce knew from the video that Nightwing had happened onto the museum first.

He nodded in approval as he pulled each sample out. Dick's methods mirrored his own and it was gratifying to know the boy had taken his lessons to heart. Bruce began the automated analysis, reassured that none of them had been contaminated or compromised.

Despite the urge to remain and conduct his own study, Bruce quickly organized the items for his return in the morning. He plucked Dr. Everhardt's book from the pile to bring upstairs with him. He had the feeling that sleep would be difficult to come by tonight when the answers he was searching for were down here. But he had promised . . .

He turned toward the steps leading back to the manor. The boys were waiting for him.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I missed everyone. This chapter has been burning a hole in my subconscious for weeks now and finally I get to share it with you. Here's hoping you take pity on me and send me a review. Things are going to start happening now . . .**


	12. The Coming of Dread

**Warning: Language, and Intense and Disturbing Imagery . . .**

* * *

Bruce walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Sleep had been a little hard to come by last night. Dick had woken several times throughout what was left of the night from bad dreams but, then, the boy's subconscious had always had trouble letting go of the things that bothered him. The early years had been fraught with nightmares. So much so that Bruce wasn't entirely sure which bedroom he had spent the most time in back then: his or Dick's.

He was much easier to comfort this time around. For losing all of his memories, little Dickie was generous with his trust and it pleased Bruce to see that this part of his boy's personality had remained intact. He had only found it necessary to hold and rock the child in his arms once, the rest of the time, Dickie only needed to see him or Jason before Bruce could lull him to sleep by rubbing gentle circles on his back.

Jason had also woken at least once due to his own nightmares. At some point during the night, he had sat upright and stared at the window until Bruce had been spurred to ask him if he was okay. Embarrassed, Jason had mumbled something about hearing a noise. Bruce knew he had been dreaming about Dick's flutterbies, or ravens, as they now knew them to be. His embarrassment wasn't enough to chase Jason from the room, however, and Bruce knew that the nightmare had unsettled the boy enough to keep him from wandering to the kitchen, as was his normal routine after being startled awake from a bad dream.

Bruce had pretended not to notice but he did get up and walk to the window to check outside. The moon had been hidden behind the clouds, so there had been nothing to see but the action had been enough to set Jason at ease. The teen fell back to sleep quickly after that.

"Good morning, Master Bruce," Alfred greeted him as he entered. "Your breakfast will be ready shortly. If you would like to have a seat at the table, I can bring you your coffee."

"Good morning, Alfred. Thank you," Bruce murmured as he took a seat beside Jason. Dick was squirming on the upholstered bench that lined the walls on two sides of the kitchen table. "Jason. Dick, sit still and eat your eggs."

Dickie was kneeling on the seat, a corner of toast in his hand, staring out the window. He looked back over his shoulder at Bruce anxiously. "Sh," he hushed them. "Flutterby."

"What?" Bruce frowned. He and Jason both jumped up and moved around the table to see what he was talking about.

"Waven," Dick pointed.

"Raven," Bruce automatically corrected even as he spotted the large, black bird sitting in the large elm tree that sat opposite the gardens.

"Raven is dere," Dick whispered. "He hear you."

No one bothered to correct the child's enunciation the second time as they watched the bird flap its black wings and adjust its position on the limb.

"Creepy," Jason murmured.

Bruce agreed but would never admit it. It almost felt as if the bird knew they were watching it. The idea was preposterous. Even should it be able to pick out which window the manor's occupants were currently gathered, it would never be able to see them through the glass, had it been so inclined.

"That thing is huge," Jason exclaimed only to have Dickie lay a hand over his mouth. "Mmph! Hey, stop it, squirt," he told the boy. "That bird can't hear us in here."

Dick's eyes were wide as he looked over at Bruce for confirmation.

"He can't hear us, Dickie," Bruce assured him. "He can't see us through the reflection of the light on the window either."

"My word," Alfred said from the window by the sink. "That is one of the largest ravens I do believe I have ever seen." He glanced at Jason. "Was that what you saw outside of your window?"

"Yeah," the teen affirmed, "but there was more of them last night. At least three or four."

"Good heavens! Could this creature be one of the same birds, do you think? Might it be dangerous?" Alfred asked.

Bruce sighed and shook his head. "It's possible that the bird has nested somewhere on the property but as for it being dangerous . . . I don't know. Ravens aren't known for attacking people that I am aware but I'll test that out a little later. In the meantime," he looked at Jason and Dick, "you two are to remain inside."

It shouldn't be a hardship as the weather was cloudy and the forecast called for rain, the temperature wasn't supposed to get over thirty-eight degrees today and was supposed to drop tomorrow below freezing. It looked as though Spring would be a few more weeks away.

"I have errands I need to run this morning, sir," Alfred told him. "I can enter and leave the car through the garage without a problem, however. Surely, they wouldn't be so bold as to try to attack the vehicle."

"If the bird seems to be docile enough, but not alone. Take Jason with you," Bruce told him. He looked at the older boy. "That is, if you feel up to it? I know the birds startled you last night . . . You don't have to, if you don't want to," he said, wanting to give the boy an out if he needed it.

Jason frowned at the thought that Bruce might believe him to be too chicken. "No. That's okay. I can go with you, Alfred."

Dick pouted. "I want go, too!"

"Sorry, chum," Bruce smiled at him, ruffling his hair. "You need to stay here and keep me company."

"I want go, too," Dick repeated, louder.

"Alfred and Jason will be too busy to be able to keep an eye on you," Bruce explained slowly. "You might wander away and get lost."

Physically, they believed Dick had been 'de-aged' to around the age of three and, as far as they could tell, he had been regressed in mentality and maturity to the same level as well. How well the child could reason and understand was something that they had yet to determine but, after the scare he had given them in the Batcave, Bruce preferred to keep a close eye out on him at all times. And, while they agreed that Dick appeared to be a normal three-year-old, his reactions often seemed to belong to a younger child. For this, Bruce blamed his devastating memory loss. With no previous experiences to draw from, they should probably count themselves lucky that Dick was capable of functioning and communicating at all and was not helpless as a newborn.

Dickie shook his head hard enough that his bangs fell back into his eyes. "I no wanner off. I no lost. I want go, too," he insisted, becoming agitated.

"Inside voice, Master Dick," Alfred reminded him as he set Bruce's plate at the table. "Gentlemen do not raise their voices in the house."

But the boy wasn't having it. His hand curled into a fist, crushing his toast, as Dick stamped his foot on the cushioned bench. "I want go, too," he yelled.

"Dick, lower your voice," Bruce said, warningly, "You will mind what Alfred tells you."

Dick's cheeks grew flushed with his upset. Frowning hard, he threw his toast at Bruce, hitting the man squarely in the face. If Dick's balance appeared a little off, the child's aim was spot on. Bruce's nose, eyebrow, and left cheek glistened with butter and crumbs.

"Uh oh." Wide-eyed, Jason slapped a hand over his mouth as he watched the scene unfolding with a kind of fascinated horror.

"Master Dick," Alfred gasped.

Bruce grabbed for the boy but Dick ducked out of reach by slipping under the table.

"Get back here, young man," Bruce ordered in a sharp tone. It was the voice that might have brought the boy to a skidding halt had he been eight years old, or even fifteen for that matter but, at the courageous age of three, Dick ignored him and dodged Alfred's hands.

"No," the toddler yelled again in what was definitely his outside voice. "I want go!"

Bruce leapt up to go after him, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. Dick squealed and ran as fast as his chubby, little legs could carry him through the swinging door and out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Oh, dear," Alfred murmured as he paused to pick up the crumbled toast.

Jason hesitated for only a moment before he, too, moved to follow the others. Alfred caught him up by the arm.

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" the older man asked. "Return to the table and finish your breakfast. This doesn't concern you."

Jason glanced up at him, worry on his face. "But . . . Bruce is awfully mad. You don't think he'd . . .?" His voice trailed off.

Alfred looked startled by the unspoken suggestion. "Oh, I should say not! Whatever makes you think that Master Bruce would harm a child?"

Jason straightened and looked the butler right in the eye. "Because that's what adults do when they're angry! They hit things."

Alfred's face softened at that sad admission. "Not all adults, Jason, and Master Bruce would never purposely harm someone that he loves, particularly a child."

Jason gave his arm a half-hearted tug and the butler easily released him. He stayed in place but stared back at the man skeptically. "Someone he loves, huh? You know, it was only last month that Bruce punched that someone he loved right in the face."

The older man looked saddened. "That was an unfortunate incident that Master Bruce regretted at once. Not that I am excusing the master's behavior, you understand, but _that_ young man you met a month ago had been supremely capable of defending himself had matters gotten further out of hand. The same would not be the case today, however."

"So, Bruce _won't_ hit the kid when he catches him?" Jason asked uncertainly, glancing over his shoulder toward the door.

The excellent workmanship of the builders prevented much of the noises from traveling throughout the house but the distant sound of a crash still managed to reach them. Alfred winced.

"A gentle swat to the posterior might be called for but, I can assure you, only Master Dick's pride will feel the sting," Alfred promised.

Jason eased closer to the door. This time, Alfred allowed him the freedom. The boy's worry was still present but, when one considered Jason's upbringing, only time and experience would reassure the boy that his fear of harsh reprisals was unfounded in this household. The older man nodded his permission and Jason darted off.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find them. Despite the dampening acoustics, Jason only had to follow the sounds he could hear in the distance. Dickie's yelling, Bruce's barking . . . It didn't take a detective to know which way the two went. Even without the noise, there was a clear path of destruction left behind. The crash was followed by a thump, followed by a slam, and then silence.

"Dick! Open this door," Bruce's voice came from the hallway to the right.

"I want go!" Dick's voice sounded muffled behind whatever door he was hiding.

Jason could see Bruce on one knee, already at work picking the lock to the door of the library. He started down the hall to join him when they heard a great crash of breaking glass. Bruce leapt to his feet. That was _not_ the sound of a Ming vase but came from something a lot bigger . . . A few seconds later, a high-pitched scream ripped through the manor. Jason bounded the rest of the way down the hall.

"Dick," Bruce's baritone held an odd note to it, one Jason wasn't certain he had ever heard before. It sounded a bit like panic . . . "I'm coming in. Stay away from the doors."

Bruce took a step back and kicked the solid oak doors that separated them from the room beyond. The heavy doors splintered but the lock held. Bruce sent a second powerful kick and the doors gave way, swinging wide. Jason was nearly to him when he saw the man startle. Whatever Bruce saw inside had made him hesitate the barest second before he was bounding into the room. Jason skidded to a halt on the marble tiles and stared into the room in shock. Whatever he was expecting, _this_ wasn't it!

The large leaded panes of one of the library windows had been shattered and three ravens were currently circling the two-story room while a fourth had Dick trapped atop one of the high bookcases.

 _How did the kid get all the way up there_? But Jason had no time to contemplate the answer as Dick attempted to crawl away from the enormous bird. _This is no ordinary bird_ , he decided. Ravens didn't get to be the size of large eagles. With its wingspan and girth, it barely fit in the space between the bookcase and the ceiling where Dickie was trying to hide. The bird flapped its wings furiously as it tried to reach the small boy.

Bruce had picked up a heavy tome and threw it at the raven. The book hit the bird directly but the raven had merely flapped its wings and held its ground. Dick had run out of bookcase. The child held an arm up to protect his face even as he attempted to climb down from his perch.

"Dick! No," Bruce yelled. He hurtled his body over a table, rushing to get below the boy before he could fall. The room, however, was huge and Jason knew that Bruce would never reach him in time.

As one of the ravens swooped down to intercept Bruce, Jason grabbed a heavy bookend and threw it with all his might. The bird squawked as it went down in a rain of feathers but Jason had no opportunity to congratulate himself on his marksmanship. Dick's foot slipped and the boy fell backward. Bruce had just thrown himself forward in an effort to catch him when one of the ravens snatched the child out of midair, its talons gripping one of Dick's arms and the back of his shirt. The child cried out in pain and terror.

Jason scooped up the first thing he could find, a paperweight, and beamed the bird squarely. The raven released the boy and Dick's scream was cut off as Bruce snatched him out of the air, the falling paperweight just missing Bruce's shoulder. The man used his body to shield the child as they tumbled and slid under the heavy table at the far side of the room.

There was still one bird left to go.

"Jason, go," Bruce yelled at him. "Take cover!"

The teen ran for the table on his end of the room but hesitated before diving beneath it. Keeping one eye on the remaining raven, Jason noticed suddenly that the bird wasn't attacking. It was still circling overhead.

"Jason!"

"No, it's okay," Jason hollered to him. "It's not doing anything."

Even as the teen watched, the raven drifted toward one of the bookcases and landed lightly. It was smaller than the one that had caught Dickie but only just . . . It turned and settled, watching the room's occupants with first one eye and then the other.

Jason ducked down so that he could see Bruce and Dick. "I don't get it. It's just sitting there," he told them.

Alfred entered the library next, his shotgun in his hands. He took aim but didn't shoot for fear of catching Jason in the crossfire.

"Jason," Alfred commanded him. "I need you to walk over here and get behind me. Carefully, so as to not alarm our guest, please."

Jason looked startled at the gun in the butler's hands but obeyed, backing toward the entry. He watched the bird warily for any signs that it would attack. "But what about Bruce and Dick?"

"You first," Alfred told him. "Then it will be their turn."

Jason eased across the expanse but the raven only stared at him with black, soulless eyes, apparently unconcerned by the teen's movements.

* * *

Bruce cradled his child in his arms as he waited for his heart to return to his chest from where it had lodged in his throat. Of all the times in his life, he didn't think he had ever felt a fear like he had when he saw the raven attacking his son or when Dick fell, knowing in his heart he'd never reach him in time. It had rivaled the fear that had swamped him upon seeing Dick shot by Joker that last time they had worked together and of watching him fall to what Bruce had assumed would be his death from that rooftop.

Both of those times had been uncomfortably similar to the fear that consumed him upon seeing his parents get shot in an alley and watching helplessly as the life had drained from their eyes. Bruce had thought he had locked away his heart on that terrible night so long ago. And yet, despite this, he had empathized when he had watched the boy see his parents die in front of him. That had been when Dick had been but a child of eight. He had worried over the boy's future enough that he had searched the child out and brought him into his own home.

He hadn't _wanted_ to love him, certainly hadn't _expected_ to . . . but it had taken only a few short weeks for Dick to burrow his way into Bruce's stony heart. By the time Bruce had realized the danger, it had been too late. He couldn't remember anymore when that he had begun thinking of the boy as his son, only that it had happened early on. Bruce had immediately made Dick his heir. Lucius had asked him once why he hadn't made it official and given the boy his name but, in truth, it hadn't been the difficulties facing a single man who wished to adopt a young boy that had prevented him taking that last step. No . . . It had been his respect for the child's memory of John Grayson that had stayed Bruce's impulse.

Perhaps, he should have talked the decision over with Dick first before making it but Bruce found it difficult to broach the subject. He still had yet to overcome the habit of burying anything that resembled uncomfortable emotional topics despite Alfred's encouragement, but he had tried to make up for it by being there for the boy, by training him, by making him his son in all but name. Memories of their increasingly antagonistic arguments made him question several of his earlier decisions. Once Dick had reached eighteen, he was no longer a child. Not being materialistic, what use did he have for Bruce Wayne? Not interested in the man's company nor his money, Dick had wanted to forge his own path and that was fine. Robin hadn't even needed Batman anymore, being more than capable of flying on his own . . .

So, while Batman could no longer bring himself to put Dick back into harm's way, Bruce had known it was past time for the young man to spread his wings and get out from beneath his mentor's shadow. Dick Grayson had been made for the spotlight . . . The time had come for him to become the hero of his own story.

Bruce watched as Jason made his way to the door and step behind Alfred. He wasn't worried, though, not with the old man present. Alfred kept the shotgun leveled at the remaining raven. His valet/butler was an expert in the handling of the weapon. Hell, the man taught Bruce practically everything he knew about firearms, although the knowledge hadn't made him any more comfortable being around them. Alfred had even made an excellent sparring partner for many years until Dick had grown enough and gained the training and experience to present Bruce a challenge on the mat.

"Ready when you are, sir," Alfred told him.

Dickie was sobbing from both pain and fear. Bruce's hands felt sticky from the child's blood. The talons of the raven had torn the boy's flesh on his arm and left deep scratches along his upper back. Luckily, the child's tight grip around his neck made it easier for Bruce to climb out from beneath the library's table, awkward though it was. Heavy, wooden chairs prevented him from exiting on the side closest to the door, unfortunately. They would have to travel around.

"Easy, son. I've got you," Bruce tried to croon. He was in Batman-mode, however, and he questioned how soothing his deep growl might sound to the frightened child. "It's going to be alright."

He straightened slowly, his eyes on the remaining raven. It had perched directly above them. The bird tilted its head to watch them but made no move to continue the earlier attack. Eyeing the space left between them and the safety of the hallway, Bruce reminded himself that it merely looked far. He was tempted to simply roll over the tabletop but he feared the movement might set the bird off.

 _Better to walk around the table slowly, calmly,_ he decided. He could always duck back under the piece, if necessary, and allow Alfred to deal with the crazed fowl in a more permanent fashion. But, if this worked out as Bruce hoped, they'd be able to close the doors and keep the bird contained until they could contact animal control.

He had barely taken a step when the heaviness entered the room, pressing down on him as if the feeling had actual weight. The overwhelming fear following it crashed over them all like a tidal wave, buckling Alfred's knees and dropping both he and Jason to the floor in an instant. Bruce gasped, fumbling for the table in an effort to keep on his own feet. Whatever this was, it made Scarecrow's fear gas seem like a gentle breeze in comparison.

" _Noooo_ ," Dick cried out, his arms tightening around Bruce's neck. "She come! She come!"

 _The Gray Woman_?

Instinctively, Bruce glanced to the upper corner of the room near the broken window, even as a powerful wind began whipping through the room, causing several books to fall from their shelves. Anything loose began flying around the room wildly. Deep shadows that shouldn't have been there at this time of day were coalescing into a dark form, unaffected by the gale force wind. When a couple of chairs fell over, Bruce found himself taking a step back, closing both arms around the boy to protect him from the flying debris. In the instant he had been distracted, the form had taken the shape of a woman, going from swirling shadows to that of a floating, undead corpse.

 _An_ _ **angry**_ _, undead corpse_!

Golden eyes flashed in rage as they zeroed in on the two of them. The fuzzy, black and white video they had captured of her didn't begin to prepare them for the staggering terror that accompanied her physical presence.

 **"YOU DARE HARM WHAT IS MINE?"** she blasted them, making everyone clap their hands over their ears.

And suddenly Jason's attempts to describe what he had heard through the door made perfect sense. Many voices with the power of crashing waves filled the room and rumbled alarmingly through their bodies. Bruce's heart actually stuttered from it and his mind leapt upon the knowledge that she was more than capable of killing all of them with the only the sound of her voice. Cries on the other side of the room said that Alfred and Jason were feeling the effects of it as well.

 **"GIVE HIM TO ME!"**

His barely constrained panic surged when, in the next moment, Dick was suddenly ripped from his arms.

"No!"

The boy screamed as he flew up in the air, twisting in a futile effort to reach for Bruce. As he came to dangle helplessly in front of her, that alien gaze was turned onto the child.

 _Make that_ _ **VERY**_ _angry_ . . .

For whatever reason, she appeared to be concerned with Dickie's wellbeing. Bruce knew he had to appease her quickly, clear up what was obviously a mistake.

"No! We saved the boy," he told her. At least, he hoped he had told her. He could barely hear his own voice. "Please, give him back to me. You're scaring him." Truthfully, she was scaring Bruce, too.

She ignored Bruce's pleas. Her attention remained fastened on Dick. He looked even smaller and more helpless than ever before. Bruce struggled to take a step forward. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life, like pushing against an immoveable concrete barrier. Jason's strength of will never impressed him more than it did at that moment. The teen had forced his way across the width of the upstairs corridor. Under this influence, it might as well have been a mile. And as far as concrete barriers went, there were ways around them . . . He had only to find it.

She was still angry but seemed to soften slightly as she considered the child hovering before her. It made Bruce hopeful that she had no harmful intentions towards the boy, if only he could say the same for the rest of them. Dick was speaking but the wind whipped away his words. Because he wasn't turned towards him, Bruce wasn't certain what it was the child was saying, only that the Gray Woman appeared to be listening. Her words were more than audible when next she spoke.

" **I set my pets to watch over you,"** she seemed to explain. Her words still rumbled through him but with less force as her anger eased. **"They would not hurt you. They came only when they sensed your danger."**

Dickie spun in place as she looked over his wounds with a critical eye.

" **None are fatal. You will recover,"** she informed him.

Her gaze darted around the room as she took in four feathered corpses. One raven, previously unnoticed, had apparently given its life when it broke through the window and allowed the rest of its fellows to enter unscathed. Only the raven perched on the bookcase remained alive.

" **But my pets did not."**

Bruce felt another surge of adrenaline at the comment. _Would she hold them responsible for the deaths of her ravens_? _Would she insist upon avenging her pets_? _They had thought the birds were attacking the boy . . . No one had considered the mad possibility that the birds had come to save Dickie from falling. Who, in a sane world, would_?

" **I think I should take you with me now,"** she declared. **"The better to watch over you."**

Dick shook his head wildly and Bruce found the strength to take, not just one step, but three. This brought Gray Woman's attention to him.

"NO," he yelled at the top of his lungs in an effort to make her hear him. "YOU CAN'T TAKE HIM!"

She was not impressed by his outburst. **"You, who would throw him away, seek to command me?"** Her golden eyes narrowed, even less amused.

"NO! I-I DIDN'T . . .," Bruce began. _Is that what she thought_? _Had Dick told her this_? His mind immediately went to their last argument. It must have seemed that way to Dick, he thought, despairingly, but what could he say now? He had no excuse. "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO CARE FOR HIM! _PLEASE_ . . . DON'T TAKE HIM!"

He was unused to begging but she was unlike any he had ever faced before. He wasn't Batman now. He had no way to protect Dick from her. He had a feeling that, even fully armed, he wouldn't be capable of protecting himself. This was beyond him. He was a little afraid she might even be beyond the strength of the Justice League.

She stared at him and Bruce felt as though she were leafing through his heart and mind, through his very soul, as she judged him. He gritted his teeth and took another step towards her. A single eyebrow lifted as she noted the movement. If she took umbrage at what she thought was his insolence, she ignored it, and him, once more. She returned her attention to Dick.

 _Why was she so intrigued with him_? _What had he done or said to elicit this amount of interest_?

Dick was speaking to her again. It was obvious that he was terrified of her but his fear didn't seem to concern her. If she 'liked' the boy as he was beginning to suspect, why did his discomfort not trouble her?

Bruce's hand slid to his watch. She did not notice but, then, he didn't think his calling for League backup would make a difference to her. He hesitated . . . The Gray Woman had decimated an enormous area in Bludhaven, killing instantly everyone within its borders. Bruce wasn't sure if she had the power to take the lives of his fellow leaguers but neither would he allow her to snatch his boy away on what he believed was a whim.

He would fight her with his last breath . . . But what right did he have to throw away other lives along with his own. Unfortunately, he seriously doubted that she would even blink at his best effort. She might blink, however, at the efforts of the likes of Superman. His hand resumed its course. Before he could activate it, Dick was moving again, being lowered to the floor of the library beneath her feet.

 _Had she changed her mind_?

Bruce forced another step in the boy's direction. The wind was dying but the force remained. Thankfully, it didn't seem to affect Dick in the same way as the rest of them and the child ran to him as soon as his feet touched the hardwood. Bruce allowed his knees to buckle as he opened his arms, catching the child up against his chest. He held Dick as tightly as he dared, determined that if the witch, or whatever she was, tried to take the boy again, she would have to take the both of them.

" **The ravens will remain,"** she declared.

Bruce didn't know if she were addressing him or Dick but he nodded in understanding. The birds had been set to protect the boy. He would not protest at this point when it looked as if the Gray Woman was preparing to leave . . . and without Dickie in tow.

" **Our agreement has been struck,"** she continued ominously.

 _Wait_! _What agreement_? Bruce looked down at the boy, worriedly.

" **Let no harm come to the Blessed One. I will hold you all responsible."** She spoke directly to the room's occupants.

As she became insubstantial, her body disintegrating into shadows once more, her parting words echoed in their minds. Like wisps of smoke, the darkness dispersed until nothing remained but Gotham's weak, pale sunshine. Dick's quiet sobs were the only sounds heard for several long minutes. Eventually, the silence gave way and the sounds of nature came to them from through the broken window. The raven flapped it wings and circled the library before exiting out the way it had come in.

" _Alfred_! Bruce . . . _Help_!" Jason's voice pulled him back to himself.

Nothing left to keep him in place, Bruce clutched Dick and hurtled the table, skidding across the polished surface. He ran to the doorway where Jason was kneeling beside the older man. He handed Dick to the older boy and turned Alfred over. The manservant was clutching his chest as his gaze met that of his charge.

"I-I think it's his heart," Jason told him. The teen's expression was panicked. Alfred obviously meant the world to Jason but, then, Alfred meant the world to everyone in this household.

"Jason, dial 9-1-1. Hurry," Bruce ordered as he loosened the other man's collar and belt.

The teen scrambled to his feet and ran, taking Dick with him. With Alfred down, the fear didn't recede with the Gray Woman's departure. Destruction followed in her wake. Bruce only prayed that, this time, there wasn't another body to mark her passing.

"Hang on, old friend. The ambulance is on the way," Bruce told him.

"Dear God in heaven," Alfred's whispered prayer reached him.

"I don't think heaven had anything to do with that," Bruce corrected him gently. The Gray Woman came from somewhere south of there, he was sure.

The butler nodded and took a deep breath. He attempted to sit up but Bruce's hands on his shoulders kept him in place.

"I'm fine now, sir," Alfred attempted to assure him. "It was a momentary thing. It has passed."

"I'd prefer we wait to hear what the doctor says about that," Bruce murmured. "For now, you will lay still."

Alfred tsked. "Don't be ridiculous, sir . . ."

"That's an order, old man," Bruce said softly. "If you try to get up, I will fire you and you can spend your retirement living with that old harridan you call an aunt up in Berkshire."

The butler's eyes widened at the threat. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me . . ."

Alfred harrumphed but continued to lay where he was on the hardwood floor. The threat of Aunt Myrtle was more than enough to force his compliance. Bruce tugged off the sweater he wore and tucked it under the older man's head.

As they waited, Bruce's mind turned to the cause of this latest emergency. The Gray Woman was extremely powerful, more so than any other he knew of. For all that Batman was both resourceful and relentless, he could not go up against her alone. He could not hope to defeat her without understanding who and what she was, either. For that, he would need help and Bruce knew exactly who he would ask for it.

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 **I was shooting for scary . . . Did I manage it? Tell me what you thought of the chapter . . .**


	13. Easy Peasy Lemon Squeezy

**Warning: If you get queasy at someone inflicting a tiny wound on himself to help a child not be afraid of needles - then skip the middle part in the Batcave. I kind of thought it was rather heroic myself, but there are some who pointed out that this might be a trigger. Although, if this bothers you, you probably shouldn't have read the first 12 chapters. ;D**

* * *

Bruce had no choice. He couldn't take Dick to the hospital with him but the boy needed stitches sooner rather than later. Despite the Gray Woman's assessment that the child's wounds weren't life-threatening, an infection could be. He would prefer a second opinion. Normally, he would leave the boys with Leslie while he went with Alfred, but after the Gray Woman and her pets infiltrated the manor, he couldn't leave them alone with just anyone, even in the relative safety of the Batcave. Bruce decided that he would need a sitter that was capable of _both_ protecting them from the Gray Woman should she return _and_ treating Dick's wounds.

Alfred was still protesting the need for an ambulance. Bruce shook his head. The man had absolutely no concept of his importance to all of their lives and Bruce refused to risk his health on Alfred's say-so alone. He was far too self-sacrificing for his own good. And while Bruce would see that Alfred would have the best damned cardiologist in the state flown in to look after him, he also knew Leslie would want to look in on the man herself. The doctor and his butler's relationship couldn't be defined as a mere friendship and despite their attempts to convince the younger man otherwise, Bruce wasn't the world's greatest detective for nothing.

There was no help for it, he would need to bring in someone from outside. Sighing, Bruce pulled out his phone and keyed in his code. There was only so much time left before the paramedics arrived and he needed to ensure the boys' safety. A breeze blew his hair and sent the loose papers strewn around the library whipping through the air again before he could slide his phone back into his pocket.

"Flash."

"Bruce?" Barry gaped. He obviously hadn't been expecting the call to have originated from the manor. "You weren't in the Batcave, so I followed your phone's signal here. What happened to Alfred?" The speedster kneeled next to the butler.

"Mr. Allen. I do apologize for not rising . . ."

"You will remain as you are until the paramedics arrive," Bruce growled a warning at the older man. He turned his attention back to his colleague. "I'm in need of a sitter and not just anyone will do," he began.

Flash's brow wrinkled beneath his bright-red cowl. "A sitter? The Justice League isn't a sitting service. Did you know that you used your emergency signal?" It was then that the hero glanced into the library, noting the broken glass, the strewn books, the dead birds, and the overturned chairs. "What happened here?"

"I don't have a lot of time to explain. That plague that decimated Bludhaven . . ."

"Yes, I've been monitoring the news," Flash told him.

"It wasn't a plague. It was caused by a being of unknown magical origins. It resembles a woman with gray skin and feathers for hair. She is astonishingly powerful and she has fixated on Dick." Bruce informed him.

"Robin? Your partner . . .?" Flash looked even more confused. Bruce knew exactly how he felt.

"She has . . . de-aged him somehow."

"De-aged? Is that even a word?" Flash gaped, skeptically. "You're telling me that your eighteen-year-old sidekick has . . . What? Been turned into a child? I've never heard of such a thing."

"He should be nineteen," Bruce continued. "He's now physically and mentally a three-year old with no memories of his past life. I wish I had the time to explain everything to you but I expect the ambulance to be here any minute. I need you to watch over the boys in the event that this Gray Woman should return."

"If I didn't know you were Batman, I would think you were pranking me," Barry muttered. "Wait! You said, 'boys' . . . Who is the second boy?"

"His name is Jason Todd. He's fourteen. I took him off the streets and made him my ward. I'm leaving him with you and Dick. He would only end up waiting if he went with me. This way Dick will have someone close by that he's familiar with."

"Uh, does he know? This Jason Todd, does he know . . . er, you know?" Barry swirled a finger in front of his face.

"He's aware," Bruce gritted his teeth impatiently.

"So, this woman is some kind of sorceress? Why didn't you call for Zatara instead of me?"

"Because I don't expect you to fight her," Bruce told him. "Listen to me, Flash. Do _not_ engage the woman should she return. I want you to take the boys and run; get them to the Watchtower. Understand me. This being, she's dangerous. She caused the instantaneous deaths of every living thing within a kilometer's radius."

Flash whistled. "I see why you called _me_."

The sound of running caught their attention and both men turned as Jason came running around the corner with Dick in his arms.

"Bruce! The ambulance is here. I opened the gate but I wasn't sure what to do with the kid," Jason told him as he skidded to a stop. The teen gaped at the speedster. "You're Flash," he said, stating the obvious. He looked at Bruce. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"I sent for him. He's going to stay with you and Dickie while I go to the hospital with Alfred," Bruce answered.

"But I don't need a . . ." Jason began. He cut off his protest at Bruce's glare. "Right. Sorry."

"Jason, right?" Flash bent down, grinning. "So, does that mean this is . . .?"

"It is," Bruce said.

"Oh, my God . . . Er, gosh," Flash corrected himself. "He looks just like him!" Barry frowned as he looked the child over. "He's bleeding all over the place! Shouldn't he go to the hospital with you?"

"The birds did that after they broke through the window to get to him. Their talons sliced up his arm and back." Bruce said, indicating the chaos of the library. "You will have to take care of it. You can use the med bay in the Batcave. I don't have any way of explaining the boy presently and getting the paparazzi involved at this juncture would be only adding to our troubles."

Flash eyed the bodies of the ravens and then looked back at the boy. He shook his head in amazement. "You've had a tough day, haven't you, kiddo? Bruce, I wouldn't have believed it without seeing it for myself."

"I'll be conferring with others to see if there is a way to reverse this . . . spell," Bruce told him. He reached for Dick, taking the child from the older boy's arms. "Dickie, this is Flash. He is a friend. He's going to watch over you and Jason while I take Alfred to see the doctor. I want you to mind him while I'm gone."

Dick's eyes were huge as he gazed at the costumed hero. "Fash? Red Fash?"

"Jason, go lead the paramedics in. Flash, I need you to take Dick down into the Batcave now," Bruce ordered. "You can bring him back upstairs after he's been tended to."

Jason ran back the way he came as Bruce handed Dick off to Barry. Dick looked alarmed as Flash took him. He leaned back toward Bruce with a whine.

"He's my friend, Dickie. He'll take care of you, I promise." Bruce glared a warning at the speedster before smiling reassuringly at the boy. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"No! Fash _eat_ me!" Dick squealed.

Barry looked startled. "What? No! I wouldn't do that."

Bruce ran a hand over the boy's head, gently. "Flash won't eat you. He's going to protect you for me. You'll like him. He can run very fast."

"Don't go," Dickie's bottom lip began to tremble.

Jason's voice could be heard urging the paramedics in their direction. They were almost upon them. Barry wasted no more time and zipped away in a streak of red, taking Dickie with him. Flash didn't know how to get to the Batcave through the house, so he'd be taking Dick back through the outside entrance. With luck, the paramedics wouldn't notice anything but the wind in the wake of their passing.

Bruce kneeled next to Alfred. "Hang on, old friend. Help is here."

* * *

Jason watched the ambulance exit through the front gate before closing it behind them. He closed the door, locked it, and ran upstairs to grab Dickie some clean clothes, then back down to the study. The Flash was really here . . . in the Batcave with Dickie right now! He shook his head. Justice Leaguer or not, he wouldn't be prepared for handling Dick by himself.

Turning the hands on the grandfather clock that hid the entrance to the cave, Jason bounced on his toes waiting as the clock swung outward. He placed his hand on the pad and let it read his handprint. Seconds later, he heard the heavy locks click and rumble as they slid aside, allowing the teen to enter into the shadows beyond.

Overhead lighting automatically lit the top of the stairs as it detected his presence. It had been intimidating the first time Bruce had brought him down here. Only a few steps were illuminated and they appeared to drop off into a dark abyss on the one side. Bruce hadn't said anything to him at the time, nor had he indicated that he'd noticed Jason's discomfort but the man had installed a handrail on the wall a week later.

It bugged Jason that Bruce had been able to see his fear so easily that day but, even still, Jason felt warmth spread through his insides that Bruce had taken steps to allay that fear. It meant that he cared for him, right? It had been a long time, a couple of years at least, since Jason had felt like someone cared about him. The gesture and the feeling it had invoked had kindled a deep sense of loyalty in the boy's heart.

Jason had only been here a few short months but, in that time, he had grown comfortable with the darkness and confident in himself enough that he never had to use the railing anymore. He ran down the stone steps now with a haste that Alfred would have surely chastised him over were he to see it. As long as the old man was alright, Jason would gladly bear up under any scolding.

He leapt over the last three steps and bounded over to the med bay, already hearing Dickie's protests echoing around the vast cavern.

"They've gone," he announced, entering the med bay.

Flash turned to greet him and Dick, seeing Jason and opportunity, made a mad scramble to climb down off of the tall gurney while the hero's back was to him. The boy's feet dangled and he dropped down but Flash caught him up before his feet could touch the limestone floor. He sat the squirming child back on the padded gurney.

"Jay!" Dick yelled. "Fash eat me!"

Jason grinned. Not too many people called him Jay. His mother had but Jason tended to encourage people not to use the nickname, usually with his fists, but hearing the kid use it made him smile.

"Calm down, goof! Flash isn't going to eat you. He came here to help you," Jason told the boy as he sauntered over to the table.

Dick frowned. "I no goof! I Dickie! Bwoose said so."

"Not when you act silly," Jason scoffed. "Then you're a goof."

Dick blinked at that, stopping his struggles to think about what Jason had said. "I no wanna be goof," he announced with a pout. "I wanna be Dickie."

Jason shakes his head. "You can't be Dickie. Dickie's _brave_. Dickie would _want_ to be nice to Flash."

The pout deepens but Dick was no longer fighting to get down. Of course, it probably helped his courage that Jason was standing right beside him now.

"I bwave . . ." Dick insisted. His lower lip jutted out stubbornly.

"I don't know," Jason said skeptically. "Brave boys like Dickie don't cry over silly things."

The child sniffled, staring up at Jason with big, damp, blue eyes. His ridiculously-long lashes were clumped together.

"I bwave," he repeated with a hiccup. "I no cry." Dick wiped at his tears with his blood-soaked sleeve, streaking his face and making him look like a horror-show reject.

Jason winced at the mess. "Ooh, sorry, Flash. I did bring him down some clean clothes, though."

Flash smiled. Dick was calmer for Jason's presence and no longer battling to escape him. "You're good," he told Jason. "And you," he said, speaking to Dick, "are almost as fast as me."

The frown creasing the child's head eased a bit at the compliment. "I fas . . ."

"Fas _ **t**_ ," Jason corrected, placing the emphasis on the 't'.

Dick nodded. "Fas _ **T**_ . . . like Fash!" He made the 't' sound with his usual enthusiasm.

"Flash, Dickie. _FFFFlllll_ ash," Jason drew out the beginning sounds of Flash's name.

Dick frowned as he concentrated. "*FFFF* . . .Lash!" A little spittle flew as he tried to repeat.

"Ew," Jason snickered, running his own sleeve over his cheek.

"You did fine, Dickie," Flash assured him. "Close enough. Now, we need to fix your boo-boos and get you cleaned up. Okay?"

"Kay!" Dick agreed loudly. He tugged and pulled at his shirt, wrinkling his nose. "I sticky."

"I bet you are," Flash murmured sympathetically. He helped the boy take his bloodied shirt off and tossed it in the trash can. "I doubt Alfred will want to keep that."

"You're a mess," Jason told the boy. He grabbed one of the towels and tried to wipe the blood off of the bandage across the child's side. He glanced over at Flash who was trying to locate the items he would need to tend to Dick's wounds. "You might want to replace this bandage while you're at it."

"I no mess. I Dickie."

Jason smiled at him. _He really is a brave, little thing_ , he thought to himself. "I _am_ not a mess, you mean. I _am_ Dickie."

Dick laughed at him. "You no Dickie. I Dickie. You Jason."

Jason grinned and shook his head. "I _meant_ that you should say 'I _**am**_ Dickie,' not 'I Dickie', goof."

"I _**AM**_ Dickie! You _**AM**_ Jason!" Dick repeated, yelling the word ' _am_ ' at the top of his lungs. His voice echoed throughout the cavern, sparking a round of giggles from the toddler.

Flash stepped back to the gurney, laughing as he laid the items he needed down beside the boy. "Give it up, kid," he told Jason. "You won't be winning this anytime soon."

"Jay am no kid. Jay am Jason," Dickie said, attempting to correct the hero. "I am Dickie."

Jason grinned. "Hey, lookit! At least he got the last part right."

Flash washed his hands after removing his red gloves and tugged on the disposable, surgical gloves that Alfred kept in supply. He moved back to the gurney and picked up the syringe, measuring out the correct portion of the local anesthetic he had found. Dick's eyes widen as he watched. Whining, the boy tried again to crawl off the table but Jason blocked his way at the same time that Flash caught hold of the boy's ankle.

"Whoa there, buddy. I'm not done with you yet," Flash told him.

"I am no buddy," Dick yelled. "I am Dickie. I am no wanna shot!"

Flash looked at him sympathetically. "I know you don't, Dickie. I don't want to give it to you but you're going to need it. It will help with the pain."

"I am no want! _I am no want_!" Dick yelled louder. The tears that Jason had coaxed away returned as the child began crying in earnest.

Flash winced. It was obvious that he was used to dealing with adults rather than children. He was a hero and hated being the bad guy here. He set the loaded syringe aside and raised his hands.

"I know and I'm sorry, Dickie, but you have some pretty deep tears in your arm that are still bleeding. I need to clean your boo-boos and fix them all up for you. The shot will stop the hurt. I promise, you won't feel any pain afterwards."

" _No_! I am no wanna shot!" Dick turned to Jason and threw his arms around the teen's neck, clinging tightly.

Jason choked a little and tried to loosen the boy's grip on him but Dick only gripped the teenager all the harder, as if he were trying to crawl over Jason's shoulder. Unable to escape, he buried his face into the side of Jason's neck. "Come on, Dickie. I thought you said you were a brave boy?"

"I am bwave. I am no wanna shot!"

Flash attempted to help Jason by plucking the child off of him but Dick clung tighter. "I am no want! I am no want! Pease!" he squealed in panic. " _Pease_!"

Flash winced at the high-pitch voice. "Ah, man . . . How do people manage this with kids?" he complained. "Give me an adult to deal with any day."

"And here I heard you were good with kids," Jason muttered.

"Jay, _save_ me!" Dickie wept. Jason could feel his shirt becoming wet with snot and tears and blood. "Pease, Jay! Pease!"

Jason suddenly stopped trying to peel Dick off of him and instead the older boy wrapped both arms around the child, hugging him tightly in return. He rocked the child side-to-side, making shushing noises.

"That's what I'm trying to do," he told the boy. "We're just trying to _help_ you."

Dick hugged Jason harder. "I am no want help," he cried. "Help _hurts_!"

Jason looked up at the hapless speedster. "Does he really need stitches? Can we not just bandage his arm up?"

Flash sighed. "We could but a couple of them are deep and ravens are scavengers. They eat carrion, Jason. This risk of infection is too great to just slap a couple of Band-Aids on them. I need to be able to clean them out thoroughly . . . And . . . Don't you think Dick has enough scars as it is without adding to them?"

"They won't scar if he has the stitches?"

Flash looked again at what he could see of Dick's upper arm and the wounds he had there. He shook his head. "Truthfully, they are going to scar either way we go but I'm hoping to keep them as small as possible. If he gets an infection, the scars that develop might become more unsightly. As energetic and rambunctious as he is, the stitches will stand a better chance of keeping infection out."

Jason slumped. He had noticed Dick's scars during his bath last night. The graze he received from the bullet would likely scar as well, no matter how good a job Alfred did on him.

As for an infection . . . Jason had stepped on a nail once. Knowing how little money his parents had and how angry his father would be if he found out, Jason had kept it a secret until an infection gave it away. In the end, it had cost them twice the amount to get him the care he needed. While money wasn't the problem in this household, the memories of how sick he had been made him want to save the little guy from the same fate.

He rested his cheek on Dickie's head. He hated to see him cry. He hesitated as an idea came to mind on how he might be able to make it easier for the child.

"Dick?" Jason asked. "Would it help if you saw _me_ get a shot first?"

Dick sniffled and loosened his grip slightly, enough to lean back and look at him. "B-But Jay no h-hurt . . ."

"If I was, then I'd get the shot and the stitches, just like you should. I know you're scared. Would it help you if you could see me do it first? I could show you that it's not so bad."

The boy shook his head, frowning hard. He stared at Jason, his bright blue eyes, glistening with tears, meeting Jason's determined green ones.

"Jay no hurt," he repeated.

"If I was," the older boy insisted, "would it help you? Would you let Flash fix you up, too?"

"Jason . . ." Flash began but the teen glared at him.

Dick bit his lip as he thought about it. Finally, the child nodded. Flash blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought the offer would work in convincing the three-year-old to allow Barry to work on him without a fight. He looked at Jason with new respect.

"You make for an excellent big brother, Jason. You know that?" Flash spoke with a touch of awe in his voice. He turned to retrieve another syringe from the drawer. A local anesthetic wouldn't hurt the boy.

"Grab another suture kit while you're over there," Jason told him.

Flash spun around even as Jason dug a batarang into his own upper arm and dragged it a couple of inches. Blood welled up in its wake and ran down to drip off the teen's elbow and onto the crisp white sheets. Dick gasped, gaping at the wound.

"Jay got boo-boo!" he exclaimed anxiously.

Flash zipped over, yanking the weapon out of the boy's hand. "What are you doing? Is everyone in the city nuts?"

"It will help him to see me go through it first," Jason insisted. He grabbed a handful of gauze and wiped the blood away. More welled up in its place.

"I thought you were just talking about getting a little shot, not slicing your arm open!" Flash said angrily.

"Flash eat Jay?" Dick gasped.

Barry glanced down at the reason they were in the med bay to begin with. Seeing the anxiety in that little face, his expression softened. "No. Flash won't eat Jay," he reassured Dickie and sighed. He turned back to grab another suture kit. "Well, too late now," he said to Jason. "Roll up your sleeve a little more, would you?"

Jason set Dick aside and did as he was told. "You know," he said conversationally, "I never wanted a little brother or sister."

Flash was busy preparing another syringe but Jason could tell he was listening.

"My dad and mom . . . Well, they weren't exactly in the running for parents of the year. Anyway, it was just better that it was only me around to take their shi- . . . um, stuff," Jason corrected at the last minute but Dickie was already slapping his hands over his mouth in dramatic fashion.

"I said ' _stuff_ '," Jay pointed out to the scandalized toddler.

"Stuff," Dickie repeated, his voice muffled behind his hands. Lowering them, he asked in a stage whisper, "Is ' _Stuff_ ' bad word?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "No, it's not."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Flash told him as he gave Jason the shot. The teen remained stoic and calm throughout. Whether it was for Dick's benefit or not, he couldn't tell. " _'Stuff'_ like that is one of the reasons why I went to work with the police force."

"You're a cop?" Jason looked startled.

Flash tossed the used syringe in the trash and shrugged easily, smiling. "My ' _other_ ' job," he told him.

Dick caught Jason's face in his hands and made the older boy look at him. "It no hurt? Jay am okay?"

Jason ruffled Dick's head. "Yeah, squirt, I'm fine. Barely felt anything at all. Easy-peasy lemon squeezy," he said with a smile.

Dick grinned at the silly saying. "Easy-peasy lemon sneezy!"

"Close enough," Jay laughed.

Flash wiped the blood away from the cut again so that he could better see Jason's wound. He then paused to place gauze around Dicks upper arm next, instructing the boy on how to hold it in place. "Keep that there until it is your turn," he told Dick.

Dick held the gauze for a few seconds and then lifted one side to see what was happening beneath it. Flash sighed and replaced the child's hand atop the absorbent material.

"It won't do any good if you keep taking it off to look under it," he chided gently.

"Sorry . . ." Dick didn't lift his hand this time.

Flash opened the package and used the scrub provided to wash the area on Jason's arm with orange-colored antiseptic. He picked up the hooked needle that was already threaded for his convenience. He let out a sigh of disgust.

"Taking the shot would have probably been enough to get Dick through this, you realize."

"Maybe," Jason shrugged. This was nothing compared to what he was used to. "Anyway, Alfred said that I don't have to worry about that other 'stuff' anymore, so I figure that having a little brother might not be so bad, after all." He smiled. "And this is what brothers do, right? Share the bad stuff so it isn't so terrible for the other one?"

"Well, I wouldn't know. I'm an only child," Flash admitted, "but that sounds about right to me. It's kind of like what heroes do in a way, taking on the bad stuff to save others from experiencing it." He met Jason's eyes. "I'd bet you'd make a pretty good one of those, too, some day."

Jason blinked, startled at the comparison. "You think so?"

"I'd say you've made a really good start." Flash holds up the needle. "You ready? I'm going to do this part fast."

"Fast?" Jason glanced down at his arm worriedly only to suddenly be staring at a fresh, white bandage. How did that get there? "What the . . .?"

The speedster laughed. "You're good as new! You know, they didn't draw this name out of a hat when they gave it to me. I'm that fast."

"Wow! I didn't feel that at all! Did you stitch it up and everything?" Jason gaped.

"Three whole stitches," Flash told him. "Nice and neat; lined up like good, little soldiers."

Dick leaned forward. "I wanna see sojurs!" he said, dropping his hand. The gauze stuck briefly to his wounds before falling unnoticed onto the gurney.

"You could have probably done the stitches without bothering with the shot at all." The teen ignored Dick's demand to complain.

Flash shook his head. "No. Trust me, the shot was needed. Although, I could do everything without you feeling it at the time, it wouldn't take long for you to notice how bad it hurt."

"It hurt?" Dick asked Jason.

He reached out a finger to touch the bandage lightly, being careful so as not to hurt the older boy. However, Jason flinched dramatically and yelped, causing the toddler to jump and pull his hand back as if he were scalded. Jason laughed at Dick's reaction.

"I'm sorry, Dickie. It didn't hurt me," Jason apologized but it lost a little sincerity as he was still grinning at his trick. "I couldn't resist teasing you a little bit."

Dick frowned at him as his chin wobbled dangerously and a couple of tears rolled down his cheeks. "It no f-funny," he complained.

Jay was immediately contrite, pulling the child back into a hug. "Sh! . . . Don't cry! I didn't mean it. You didn't hurt me, squirt. I was just playing around with you, joking . . . you know?"

Dick whimpered into Jason's shoulder. "Jay scare me. That mean joke."

"I'm sorry, Dickie. Honest," Jason promised.

"That's apparently something else brothers do to each other, I hear," Flash commented. "Teasing one another."

The speedster picked up the abandoned gauze and threw it away. The boy's wounds were only seeping now, already beginning to clot on its own. He needed to clean them yet and that would start the blood flowing again. He picked up Dick's syringe.

Despite his promise, Dickie began to whine as soon as he saw the needle. He leaned into Jason. The older boy pulled the toddler into his lap.

"It's going to be okay," he promised the child. "And lookit! Everyone will be able to tell we're brothers now that we have matching scars!" he said, holding his bandaged arm up again. "It'll be cool!"

"It be cool?" Dickie sniffled. Although he was unhappy about it, he held his arm out to Flash.

Flash wasted no more time, wiping off a spot on the child's arm and sliding the needle home. Dick hissed a little but Jason hugged him tighter.

"All done," Flash told him a few seconds later. "How are you doing, buddy?"

Dickie gave him a wobbly smile. "Easy-peasy lemon cheesy."

Jason laughed and Flash grinned.

"Close enough," the speedster said as he opened the second suture kit.

This time when Flash started vibrating, the boys were watching. He blurred and when he stopped, he was grinning at them with his hands on his hips.

"You two just going to sit there or would you like some lunch. I can whip you up something or I can run out for takeout and be back before you have a chance to blink," he said, winking at them.

Jason looked down at the neat bandage around Dick's arm. It matched his own. "I was watching you but I didn't see you move! I mean, you were blurry and then not!" Jason slapped a hand to his forehead in amazement. "That was nuts!"

"Nuts!" Dick repeated touching the bandage on his arm. Even the blood that had been on his arm and torso was gone. "I have sojurs, too? Like Jay?"

"You sure do, five of them! And I cleaned you up a bit," Flash told Dick as he picked him up and set him on the floor. "The cave is too chilly for you to run around like that. Let's get some clean clothes on you before you catch cold."

"I-It n-no b-bad," Dick announced through chattering teeth. He started shivering now that he was no longer pressed up against Jason's warmth. "It n-no h-hurt."

"You did awesome!" Jason grinned at the boy as he handed Flash the shirt he had picked out. It was an orange, long-sleeved t-shirt with the words 'You're Bacon Me Crazy' printed on it. In the middle of it all was a large strip of bacon. "I think Leslie must have bought this shirt for him. I can't see Alfred choosing something like this for anyone."

Dick's head popped through the neck of the shirt. "Alfed h-hurt!" He looked up at Flash as the man helped him into a fresh pair of jeans. "Y-You f-fix Alfed? P-Pease?"

"I wish I could, kiddo," Flash said regretfully, helping the boy into a zippered hoodie. "But I'm sure the doctors at the hospital will fix him right up. He'll be home before you know it." He clapped his hands together. "Let's go upstairs and find something to eat and you guys can settle watch a movie."

"Yay!" Dick agreed, warm again. He tugged on Jason's hand as they walked out of the med bay together. "What a movie?"

Flash did a double-take. "Did he just ask what a movie was?"

Jason sighed. "You'd be surprised by what all he doesn't remember."

Dick grabbed ahold of Flash's hand, too, and suddenly lifted his feet off the floor, dangling happily between the two of them by his arms. When he discovered he could swing, Dick became too preoccupied to bother with the conversation going on above his head.

"Swing! Swing!" he laughed, delighted, the entire trauma of the morning forgotten in the joy of the moment.

Jason found himself a little jealous at the boy's resilience. He wished he could put away the trauma of the morning that easily. He wished he could forget a lot of things but his past had made him who he was today . . . And if what Flash had told him earlier was true, that he could make a great hero someday, then maybe, at the end of the day, all that bad stuff that had forced him to toughen up and forced him to become stronger had been worth it.

He glanced down at the boy swinging on his arm and saw Dickie smiling up at him with a look of adoration in his big, blue eyes, like Jason had hung the moon or something. He smiled back at him and thought that maybe, at least in this little guy's eyes, someday had already arrived.

"Come on, Dickie," he said, swinging the child onto his back. "Hang on to me. You haven't lived if you haven't watched TMNT. Turtles in a half shell . . . Dude!"

"Turtals in haf shell," Dick repeated. "Dude!"

* * *

Flash followed them up, laughing, and wondering at Bruce's crazy-good luck. _How did a guy so grim wind up with two great kids like these_? he thought. _Maybe, under all that black body armor there is a heart, after all_.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I hope this chapter meets expectations . . . It was not the original chapter planned. That one has been moved. ;D Writing this chapter (once I got going) was fun! I love me some big brother Jason! I mean Wow! Tough exterior but soft in the middle . . .**

 **Oh, and about the warning up top: Barry did tell Jason not to do that, so I think I covered all my bases here. But should you get the urge to make cuts on yourself, don't do it. Bad path, man.**

 **If you love me - No! Better yet, if you love _Jason and Dickie,_ please review! ;D**


	14. The Magic Pocket

**Whew! This took forever . . . I wrote it, then I needed to add a character, then I needed a transition scene for the beginning, then I needed a conversation to happen, and THEN I needed to combine them all into something cohesive. LOL! I'll admit right now, I got a little lazy when it came to editing some of this. (I promise that I'll be going through it over the next few days and fixing stuff.)** **It wasn't my fault, though. They had a Fixer-Upper marathon on HGTV with Chip and Joanna Gaines (One was a clip show that had bloopers and funny stuff edited out of the original episodes - How could I pass that up?). You've learned something new about me today. I love television shows about renovating houses (Love Property Brothers, too!) and some Food Network shows as well (Chopped; Beating Bobby Flay; and "Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives"). Put any of these shows on and it is as distracting to me as much as it is for your dog when it sees a squirrel . . . :D**

 **Anyway - Enjoy!**

 **Warnings: Language . . .**

* * *

It was early evening when Bruce opened the front door and stepped out of the way so Alfred could walk in. The older man paused long enough to harrumph at his employer then, shaking his head, entered into the foyer. After closing the door and setting the alarms behind them, Bruce moved in and took Alfred's arm to support him.

Offended, Alfred jerked his arm free and glared. "Oh, this is ridiculous, Master Bruce!" he declared. "I am not an invalid. You heard the doctor yourself. I'm perfectly fine . . . as I told you before you embarked on this mission to annoy the bloody hell out of me."

Bruce returned the look dryly. "The doctor wanted to keep you overnight for observation," he reminded him but didn't bother to attempt to take Alfred's arm again. He was certain that it would only succeed in getting his hand slapped a second time.

"Which would have been a waste of time and money," Alfred grumbled. "You certainly cannot be expected to handle both boys and this unholy creature all on your own."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think that I had just been insulted."

"Then, perhaps, your detective skills have become a little moldy throughout the course of the afternoon," the butler grumbled as he headed toward the hallway that led to his private rooms.

"Be careful, old man," Bruce growled, amused. "There is a future with an old maiden aunt with your name on it."

"Heaven forfend," Alfred shuddered despite himself. He hesitated and looked back. "I don't hear anything. You don't think that the witch returned, do you?"

Bruce tilted his head. The house _was_ quiet but it didn't feel uninhabited. Some ancient instinct told him that there were other living creatures within the manor's halls. The heaviness that had accompanied the Gray Woman, fortunately, was missing. He relaxed somewhat but not completely. Alfred had a point. It was far too quiet for this early in the evening. Experience had him remembering the type of mischief that an eight-year-old Dick could get into . . . He had a feeling that it wouldn't compare to what a three-year-old Dick Grayson could manage.

"Let's get you settled first. I'm sure that Flash has everything under control," Bruce told him.

"If it is all the same to you, sir, I would prefer to see that for myself," Alfred turned smartly and headed back in the other direction.

Sighing, Bruce followed. He doubted he could get Alfred to lie down without resorting to punching him in the head. Besides, he, too, was suspicious by the lack of noise. Dick had only been de-aged less than two days yet they had already learned that he and Jason together tended to be anything but silent.

They were moving towards Bruce's study and to the Batcave when the sound of the television drifted out from the den. Bruce frowned. He didn't like the idea of the Flash running about the manor while in costume. While visitors were few to the estate, should someone see him, it would compromise Bruce's secret identity as Batman because what possible purpose would a League member have visiting with high society's favorite billionaire playboy? Surely, Barry was logical enough to change into civilian clothing before bringing the boys back upstairs.

"Is it possible that he could get Master Dick to sit down long enough to watch a movie?" Alfred wondered aloud as Bruce reached for the doorknob. It seemed unlikely when one considered the child's high energy antics.

The scene before them was alarming.

"What happened here?" Bruce asked the room's only visible occupant.

Barry Allen, not Flash, was seated in one corner of his large, sectional sofa. The blond man turned his head and smiled, looking more than a little relieved. He signaled for the two newcomers to be quiet as he stood and stepped over something on his way over to them.

"Alfred, how are you doing? What did the doctor say?" Barry asked as he approached them.

"It doesn't matter what the doctor said since the man insists of ignoring his advice," Bruce snarked. "What happened in here?"

"I am well enough, Mr. Allen," Alfred intoned politely. He refrained from admonishing Bruce his poor manners in lieu of answers. "Indeed. Did that terrible woman return?"

The room was in chaos, books and movies, games and puzzles were scattered here and yon. Pillows were tossed willy-nilly on the floor. Even the sectional furniture was separated in several places and sitting at odd angles.

Barry smiled ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "Ah, yes, about that . . ."

Bruce glared. "Yes. What about that?" He moved to walk further into the room when Barry grabbed his upper arm, halting him.

"No. You don't want to go in there," the speedster warned him. "You could wake them."

"What?" Bruce removed his arm from Barry's grip and turned to face the other man.

"The kids," he said by way of explanation. "They finally calmed down enough to crash."

"This early?" It wasn't even 6:30 yet. "Explain."

"You should have warned me ahead of time," Barry complained. "All I did after taking care of Dick and Jason's injuries was fix them a little something to eat. After that, it was nonstop around here."

"Wait. Stop right there? Jason's injury? Jason wasn't injured when we left here this morning," Bruce snapped. "What the hell happened, Barry!"

"Ah, yeah, see, that's the thing. He kind of did it himself," the other man shrugged.

"Oh, dear," Alfred exclaimed. "An accident of some sort?"

"No. No accident. Dick was having some trouble calming down once he saw the syringe with the local anesthetic. Jason offered to take a shot in the arm first to prove to the boy that it wasn't as awful as he thought it would be . . . except that Jason was talking about the whole process, not just the shot."

"The whole process? Are you speaking of . . .?" Bruce asked.

"The stitches, yeah. Exactly."

"Jason didn't need stitches, Barry. Don't tell me . . ."

"He didn't but then he took one of your batarangs and cut himself."

"Dear Lord!" Alfred started. "Is he alright?"

"He did this to himself?" Bruce asked in astonishment. He hadn't pegged Jason for a self-harmer.

"It wasn't bad," Barry reassured them. "A short cut, just deep enough to require a stitch or two. He did it for Dick, you understand."

"Not exactly. So, did it work?" Bruce asked, curiously. He glanced towards the sofa where he assumed the boys were currently ensconced.

"It did. Rather well, as a matter a fact," Barry admitted, "but I have to say, Jason, although fantastic with Dick, is a bit . . . well, _intense_ , if you know what I mean?"

"He's had a rough upbringing," Bruce murmured.

Barry pursed his lips and nodded. "I suppose that could explain it. Seriously though, what kid do you know would slash himself just to make another kid feel better? You might consider suggesting he tone it down a notch or two."

"Hm," Bruce grunted in acknowledgement. He agreed but had yet to discover a method that would accomplish the goal. "You never said how this place got to be so wrecked."

Barry glanced around the room, scratching his head. The TV was still playing an episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but the volume was down low.

"Well, I'm not sure. See, it started shortly after I made dinner . . ." Barry told them.

"And what, pray tell, did you feed them?" Alfred asked.

"Um, well, we started out with spaghetti and bread sticks and then moved on to burgers and fries. A little later we had pizza for dinner and chocolate-chip cookie-dough ice cream for dessert," Barry listed. Thinking about it reminded him he was hungry again.

"Good heavens!" Alfred exclaimed. "At least, you didn't give them soft drinks as well."

"Yeah, I noticed you didn't have any in the house but don't worry," Barry smiled. "I made sure you are fully stocked now."

Even Bruce blinked at the high carbohydrate/high sugar content foods the kids had been consuming all day while Bruce and Alfred were gone.

"You let them drink soda all day?"

"Except when we had milkshakes with the burgers and fries." Barry grinned. "Milk, does the body good!"

Bruce slapped a hand to his forehead. No wonder the room was in shambles and the boys had conked out so early. "You put them in a food coma, Barry!"

The speedster blinked. "What? I eat that stuff all the time and it doesn't bother me. Maybe you should consider loosening up the strings on the pantry door. The boys ate like they were starving." He noticed that now even Alfred was glaring at him. "You act like feeding them is a bad thing."

"What works for a speedster doesn't work the same way for children," Bruce informed him. "They haven't the same metabolism as you. They don't need to eat every twenty minutes nor should they have so much high carbohydrate food in one day, let alone in one continuous sitting."

"Indeed," Alfred concurred. "It is a wonder that they didn't manage to burn the manor to the ground in the meantime."

"I'll admit that they were pretty lively a bit ago but they looked like they were having a good time," Barry said. "Dick got a little cranky but isn't that true of most toddlers when they get tired? And Jay . . . Okay, he was a little bit crabby as well but he's a teenager. Crabby is what teens are all about, right?" At their silence, Barry shrugged. "What do I know about kids? Iris and I have no plans to have any. Look, don't worry about the mess. I'll clean that up in a flash."

Alfred winced. "Did he really say that?" he asked as Barry disappeared in a blur.

"He did," Bruce affirmed. "He's almost as bad as Dick ever was with the puns."

Barry reappeared in front of them. "I took care of everything in the kitchen, too," he told them, smiling. "Do you have any more need of me?"

Bruce shook his head, glancing around at the now immaculate room. "You can go."

"Great! I still have time to meet Iris. Hate disappointing family, you know? We're supposed to be having dinner at her brother's tonight and I'm starved.," he chirped merrily. "If you need me again, Bruce, don't hesitate to call. It was fun!"

"Thanks, Barry. I might take you up on your offer if you promise not to feed the kids while you're here next time," Bruce murmured dryly.

"Whatever," Barry winked at him. "Good luck with your Gray Woman. Don't hesitate to call the League if you need help dealing with her."

"I'm hoping that it won't come to that," Bruce said. Unfortunately, he didn't believe that would be the case. He was withholding judgment, however, until he had spoken to someone who had a better handle on the magic aspect of it than he did.

"Glad you're feeling better, Alfred," Barry told the older man right before he disappeared again, leaving behind him only a stiff breeze that quickly settled.

"It's early but you might put the children to bed while I see to the mess in the library, sir," Alfred said. Bruce laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

"You are the one going straight to bed," Bruce insisted as he made his way over to the sofa to check on the boys. "The library can wait until tomorrow. I'll just make certain the windows are covered and the doors shut."

"Pish," the older man tsked. "Will you be going out tonight, sir?"

"Not tonight, Alfred. I have the results to my tests to analyze and several more yet to run," he told him. "And I am expecting a guest." In answer to the question in the butler's eyes, Bruce continued. "If all goes well, he will know who our Gray Woman is and how to stop her."

"Will you be requiring my services, then?" The butler asked.

"No, Alfred. I was serious about you going to bed. I don't want to see you doing anything but resting until Tuesday . . .?" But the older man was already shaking his head. "Tomorrow, then."

Alfred sighed heavily, as if Bruce were putting him out. "Very well, then, although it is under protest."

"I'm only insisting because I care about you," Bruce smiled. "You are getting up in years, after all . . ."

Alfred glared. "Here now! There's no reason to insult me!"

Bruce chuckled as he leaned down to shake Jason awake.

"Hngh, wha-?" Jason blinked owlishly at Bruce. "Oh, you're back!" He sat up and looked around at the pristine room. "How's Alf? He must be feeling better if he cleaned up in here."

"Alfred is feeling better, thank you, but he didn't clean up after your mess. Barry did that before he left," Bruce informed him. "What were you thinking eating and drinking everything Flash gave you?"

"That I miss eating junk food sometimes?" Jay shrugged, smirking. He rubbed his head with one hand and yawned. "You know, you probably shouldn't let Dickie have sugar, though. He was bouncing off of the walls and furniture like he was in a pinball machine."

"Hm, so I heard. You couldn't have stopped him?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Jason asked incredulously. "He was freaking hilarious! He was pretending he was a teenage mutant ninja turtle . . ."

Bruce blinked at the reference but let it go. He didn't want to know. "I meant from eating the sugar."

"I repeat, why would I want to do that?" Jason grinned at him.

The turtle in question was asleep face-down on the other end of the sectional. His bottom was in the air and his thumb tucked back into his mouth. The child had so exhausted himself throughout the course of the day that he had barely enough energy to suck on it. Instead, drool coated the appendage and the sofa cushion beneath him.

"Um, you're not worried that he'll get bucked teeth or something, sucking on his thumb like that?" Jason wondered as Bruce bent down to pick the boy up.

"Perhaps, if I thought he would be in this form for any length of time, but the one of the perks of being a billionaire is I can afford proper dental care," Bruce smiled, showing off a set of perfect teeth.

You'd think your dentist would become suspicious after a while," Jason snorted. "I guess, considering what you do every night, having a good dental plan probably comes in handy, eh?"

"That it does, Jason. That it does." Turning, Bruce began carrying Dick upstairs to his room. "But, hopefully after tonight, it will no longer be an issue."

Jason followed in his wake. "Why? What happens tonight?"

"I have someone coming whom I hope can reverse whatever spell the Gray Woman placed on Dick," he told the teen. "I'll have to get him up in another hour or so for that meeting but perhaps the nap will put him in a better mood."

"Yeah, he was getting kind of cranky there at the end," Jason agreed.

Bruce hesitated at Dick's bedroom door. Jason looked into the darkened room with trepidation as well.

"You could lay him down in my room, I guess," the older boy offered generously. "He might get upset waking up alone in here after last night and this morning."

He nodded. "I thought so, too," Bruce murmured. "You wouldn't mind?"

Jay shrugged. "Just don't lay him on his stomach. I don't want him to get drool all over my sheets."

Bruce smirked. "Yes, I could see where that might become a problem," he said, following the boy into his room across the hall.

After he tucked the toddler into Jason's bed, Bruce didn't leave as Jason expected. Instead, Bruce sat on the foot of the bed and motioned for Jay to join him there.

"What's up? Did you want me to keep an eye on the rugrat for you again?"

"No," he said. "I wanted to talk with you . . . about your actions last night and this morning."

Jason stiffened. "Am I in trouble?"

Bruce laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "No. You're not in trouble."

Jason didn't look as though he believed him. He fidgeted nervously.

"Jason," Bruce began, "I owe you an apology. I had believed you to be jealous of Dick and was concerned that it might affect the way you treated him. Your actions last night and today, however, have proven my hasty assumptions wrong . . ."

The teen blinked at the apology. He hadn't been expecting that. But he felt compelled to correct Bruce, nonetheless.

"No, you weren't wrong . . . Well," he hunched his shoulders a little and studied his socks, "not completely, anyway. I was jealous and angry and maybe I might have even picked a fight with him over it but that was with the guy who was here a month ago. You know, when he was still . . . um, normal." Jason glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping toddler curled into a tight ball in the center of his bed. "But . . . well, look at him! He's just this little thing now and he doesn't even remember meeting me before or anything! It's kind of hard to hold a grudge against a baby."

Bruce glanced back briefly but his attention at this moment was for the teenager who was struggling to make sense of what he was thinking and feeling.

Jason sighed. "Before he was this arrogant ass who just barged in and started telling me what I could and couldn't do. It rubbed me the wrong way. Anyway, he's not the same person anymore. Now, he's the one who needs protecting from the world."

Bruce blew out his breath through his nose, rubbing a hand across the stubble across his jaw. "You should realize that when Dick said those things, he wasn't trying to hurt you. If anything, he was looking out for you, although I know it didn't seem that way at the time. He came back, I think, to work out a few of our problems but ran into you dressed in his old costume. It had to be a bit of a shock considering what all I had said to him during our last argument. I'm certain that he was worried for you, Jason, as well as being hurt and angry with me. But he was right in his assessment. You weren't ready. You still aren't . . . not yet, anyway."

"Uh huh . . . I'm sure my well-being was the first thing on his mind," Jason muttered sarcastically. But then, his voice softened a little. "You know, you guys said some pretty rough things to each other. Did you mean them?"

He took a moment before answering the boy. Finally, he shook his head. "No. Not really. At least, not in the manner in which they were spoken."

"Yelled," Jason corrected.

Leave it to Jason to make sure Bruce was being honest with himself.

"Yelled," he admitted reluctantly. "Dick, I'm sure, was feeling a bit jealous himself. I hadn't spoken to him since . . . Well, certainly not since taking you in. I hadn't planned for him to learn about you that way." Bruce's own broad shoulders slumped a bit. "Let's all agree that none of us handled that situation particularly well."

The boy nodded easily enough.

"That wasn't what I wanted to talk about, however, when I asked you to sit with me," Bruce told him. "I want you to know that, despite all that had gone on before, I thought you handled yourself last night and today in a manner fitting a hero."

Jason stared at him, nonplussed. From the boy's reaction, Bruce made a note to praise Jason more often than he had been.

"You showed courage and an inner strength that is admirable. It is a trait I noticed in you from the beginning. It, among other things, is what decided me on taking you into my home and ultimately, to train you as my partner." Bruce told him. He laid his hand once more on Jason's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I thought you should know . . . I'm very _proud_ of you."

"Enough to let me wear the Robin costume?" the boy asked optimistically.

"Don't press your luck." But he said it with a smile and ruffled Jason's hair playfully.

* * *

Bruce leaned back in his chair, waiting for the 'expert' to arrive in response to the message he had sent out after they had returned to the manor from the hospital with Alfred. Getting the old man to lay down and relax was a chore in and of itself and, currently, Jason was being left in charge upstairs while Bruce worked to resolve the problem of the Gray Woman. And a problem she was . . .

Although, after Dickie's nap, Bruce had tried to get him to talk about this mysterious bargain he had apparently made. Unfortunately, the child steadfastly refused, growing increasingly upset the longer he was questioned. Remembering his reaction to Leslie's questions the other day, Bruce had broken off his gentle interrogation for fear of inducing another panic attack. After meeting the Gray Woman for himself, Bruce understood his reluctance but she had mentioned taking the boy with her at some point in the future and that couldn't be allowed to happen.

He returned his attention to the evidence in front of him.

It turned out the black substance had a similar makeup to blood but unlike anything that Bruce had ever seen before. It was not human . . . nor did it belong to any known alien, for that matter, not according to the records he had pulled from the Watchtower's databanks. He was still analyzing it, however. The DNA sequencer continued to work on deciphering what the cells in the blood contained. It was taking far longer than he had expected it to take. Handling a normal human sample was no quick, easy task but the Gray Woman's 'blood appeared to have no end in sight.

The feathers that he and Dick had collected had all belonged to ravens, as Bruce had expected. The other blood samples taken had belonged to Dr. Everhardt and to a missing raven. But Dick hadn't bagged the bird and Batman had found no evidence of the bird's body when he had searched the museum office. There had been too much blood present for a bird, even one as large as these ravens, to lose without dying in the process. So, where had its body gone?

Jason entered the main chamber of the cave with Dickie planted on his hip. It was for this reason that, despite dressing as Batman, Bruce had left the cowl back. Dick had yet to be exposed to Bruce in full costume yet.

"Jason, what is it?"

"You said to bring Dick down in an hour," Jason reminded him.

The toddler was munching on half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and Bruce suspected that he had more of it on his face than in his stomach. Jason, as well, had telltale crumbs on the side of his mouth.

"That's right," Bruce nodded. _Damn_. He glanced at the chronometer. "How can you two still be hungry after everything that Flash fed you?"

Jason shrugged, smirking. "Growing boys," he said as a way of explanation. "I made it for him rather than asking Alfred. You said to not disturb him."

"That, I did. If Alfred got up to make you both something, I doubt he would go back to bed willingly afterwards," Bruce told him as he took Dick and set him on his lap.

"Thank you for watching him," Bruce agreed. "It is nearly time for my guest to arrive. I would like for you to be upstairs before then."

"Aw, why?"

It was as close to a whine as Jason ever got.

"Although the man who is coming is a colleague, it would not do for him to learn who you are." Watching the teen's reaction, Bruce chided. "Pouting doesn't become you, Jason."

"Fine," Jason grumped. "I'm going."

"Do not come back down," Bruce warned. "I will bring Dick up when we are finished here."

"If he gets changed back, he can bring himself up, can't he?" Jason countered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"With any luck," he agreed.

"I would like to go on the record by saying I vote to keep him like this," Jason called over his shoulder as he started up the stone steps.

"Jason . . ."

"Yeah, I know. I'm going. I'm going," Jason began taking the steps two at a time until he disappeared around the curving wall and into the shadows beyond.

Bruce turned his attention back to the boy on his lap. Dickie smiled a gooey, sticky smile in his direction. He landed one sticky hand on top of the bat on Bruce's chest.

"Bat no eat me?" the child asked for the twentieth time since hearing about Batman.

"No, Dick. The Bat won't eat you," he confirmed for him. "And do you know why?"

Bruce needed to be in full costume by the time his guest arrived and that meant he needed to introduce the boy to Batman now so that he wouldn't be afraid later. Dick shook his head, nearly unseating himself in his enthusiasm.

"Because the Bat we're talking about is _me_ ," Bruce said slowly. "Would you like to see?"

Wide-eyed, Dick nodded, awestruck. Bruce could count on one hand how many times Dick had been speechless since he's known him. It amused him that the boy was silent and in awe now as he had been before. Much was the same the first time he had taken the boy to the cave all those years ago.

Letting him go, Bruce reached behind him for his cowl. Ever so slowly, he pulled it over his head, tugging it into place over his face, making certain that Dick could see everything that he was doing. Mask in place, Bruce watched the child's face for clues to his thoughts. Dick frowned.

Crawling up Bruce's armored chest, Dick patted Bruce face and then tugged slightly at the bottom of the cowl's mask.

"Bwoose?" he asked a little worriedly. He tipped his head as if to peek beneath the mask.

Bruce ignored the stickiness Dick had transferred to him and pulled the cowl back. "I'm right here, Dickie. I didn't go anywhere."

He was taking a risk doing this in front of the child. If Dick was stuck in this form for long, chances were good that he might let the knowledge of Bruce's alter ego slip at some point. Had Bruce had his way, Dick would have remained shielded from this sort of knowledge for as long as possible but, unfortunately, the Gray Woman meant that such an option was no longer available to them.

"Do 'gain," Dick demanded.

Bruce tugged the cowl back into place once more and waited. Dick touched the cowl's 'ears' with one hand and then gently touched one finger to one of the opaque lenses that hid Bruce's eyes.

"Where you go?" the child asked.

Bruce touched the hidden button near his temple and the lenses slid up. Dick gasped and then pressed his nose to Bruce's, staring into the man's own set of blue eyes.

"Dere you are," the child exclaimed.

Bruce swallowed his laugh and corrected him. "There! 'Th' . . . Ttthhhere you are," he said, holding out the 'th' sound for a long moment.

"Tthhere," Dick repeated obediently.

"Ttthhhat's right," Bruce chuckled, drawing a giggle from Dick giggle in response.

"Bwoose is the Bat."

"When I wear the cowl, you will call me Batman. Do you understand?" Bruce instructed him carefully.

"You wear cow?" Dick tilted his head to the side, confused.

"Cowlll, not cow," he smiled, emphasizing the 'l's again. "The cowl is the name of my mask."

Dick giggled. "I like cow better," he said.

Bruce chucked him playfully under the chin, making the child laugh louder. The sound echoed in the large cavern. "Very funny. Now, can you say 'Batman'?"

Dick bounced energetically in Bruce's arms. "Batman! Bwoose is Batman!"

"Shhh," Bruce hushed him, nuzzling his face against the boy's neck to further ease the sting of the gentle reprimand. Dick squealed, his giggles filling the grim chamber. "You aren't allowed to call me Bruce when I am wearing . . ."

"The COW," Dick yelled, finishing his sentence for him.

Bruce shook his head. He knew when to give up. "When I wear this _mask_ ," he began again, "you will call me Batman . . . _Only Batman_. Do you understand?"

Dickie nodded.

He tugged the cowl off, testing the boy's understanding. "Who am I?"

"Bwoose," Dick announced firmly with a nod.

Sliding the cowl back over his face once more, Bruce asked him again. "Who am I?"

Dick hesitated slightly, then answered. "Batman?"

"That's right! You are a very smart, little boy, you know that?" he praised him.

"I bery smart," Dickie agreed.

"You will remember this, won't you?" he asked.

"Yes. I memor . . ." Dick promised.

"That's my boy," he told him.

Bruce tested his new-found knowledge a few more times before setting Dick on the table and handing him a set of Batcuffs from his belt to play with. The table held several items pertinent to the case: the box, Bruce's list of hieroglyphs as well as the list of ones he had already discovered. It was only minutes later when the computer sent an alert at the same time the zeta-tube, set up in one corner of the cave, announced an incoming visitor.

 _At last_ , he thought, _now we might get some answers_.

* * *

John Zatara blinked once as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the cave. He then stepped forward to make way for Dr. Fate to come through behind him. He scanned his environment to find the source of his invitation only to discover a small child playing happily next to his grim-faced host. He and Fate moved across the space to greet the somber hero.

"Batman," Zatara greeted him. "You left a message saying that you wanted consult with me with one of your investigations. Is that correct?"

"I was only expecting you," Batman told Zatara in lieu of an answer to his question. Dr. Fate floated across the metal grating towards the Dark Knight.

"Your message mentioned hieroglyphics. Dr. Fate is an expert in them. That is why I asked him to accompany me," Zatara replied.

Batman accepted that. "Good. Then, I am hoping that one of you might help me with interpreting a number of hieroglyphics that I've discovered among other things."

"What other things?" Zatara asked him. "Perhaps I might be useful yet."

"Undoing a spell of some sort," Batman said as he indicated the small child sitting on the table beside him.

Zatara stepped closer, his attention focused on the toddler in front of him. "Are you certain that a spell was used? I can sense no magical residue. Usually a spell leaves evidence behind it."

"I am certain that he was changed, yes. There is no question." Batman assured him. "He was nineteen two days ago."

"This feels natural with the exception of a . . ."

"Of a . . . What is it?" Batman zeroed in on Zatara's hesitancy to label whatever he was detecting.

"I can sense an aura of danger surrounding him. It hovers there like a warning," the magician said, moving closer. He smiled at the young boy. "I mean you no harm, child."

Dick glanced up at the magician curiously, obviously unafraid. "Who you?"

"I am called Zatara. I am a friend of Batman's," he explained patiently.

"Batman no eat me," Dick announced confidently.

"And that is a relief, I am quite sure. May I?" he asked permission before lifting the child's hair to reveal the black mark given to him by the Gray Woman on his forehead. "This is the source of the warning."

Bright color caught Dick's eye. He set down the cuffs he had been playing with to reach up and pluck the bright red handkerchief free of the magician's coat pocket as the man leaned over him. Tugging it free, Dick discovered it was attached to a yellow handkerchief and that one to a green one, and then to a blue one. Fascinated, the boy continued to pull out of the magic, bottomless pocket one handkerchief after another, soon making a colorful pile in his lap.

"Where did you get this?" Fate interrupted. He had picked up the metal box and was examining it.

"The origin of the box is a mystery," Batman explained, "but I have evidence that this box came to the Museum of Natural History in Bludhaven from Wales. I believe it was used to hold a very powerful magical being prisoner. One who has recently escaped and caused the death of hundreds of innocent people."

Zatara frowned. "You refer to those deaths in Bludhaven. I heard on the news that the authorities are blaming a virus."

"It wasn't a virus," he corrected.

"And what has this box to do with the child?" Zatara glanced up at the dark detective. "You think the creature it held was the one to de-age the boy?"

"He calls himself Nightwing now, and I do."

"These hieroglyphics are Celtic rather than Egyptian. I will not be of much use to you here, although I do recognize this one." Fate interrupted, pointing to one of the symbols that could be found once on every side of the iron box.

Zatara peered at the symbol and nodded. "Yes. I, too, have seen this symbol before. It was in reference to a half-forgotten legend of old."

"Explain," Batman snapped.

"It means 'The End'," Fate informed him. "I am aware of the legend you speak of. It contains a vague reference to the end of the world."

Batman frowned. "Are you saying that this is a prophecy of some kind?"

"Unfortunately, even my knowledge is limited," Fate admitted. "The legend is vague."

"The end of what?" Batman asked. "Does the legend tell you that much?"

"I have always taken its meaning as encompassing everything," Zatara murmured. "Not very reassuring, is it?"

"All I can tell you for certain at this juncture is that the child has an integral part to play in all this," Fate told him.

Zatara shook his head. "I remember no references in the legend to a child."

"Regardless, he _is_ connected." Fate sat the box back on the table warily.

 _So, even the powerful Nabu was being cautious_ , Batman noted silently. This did nothing to ease his worries.

The magician looked back at the boy in surprise. He had finally become aware of the string of colorful squares that stretched from his pocket to the large pile in the child's lap.

"What's this?" he asked, amused. "You are a slippery, little eel, are you not?"

Dick giggled as he pulled free several more handkerchiefs: purple, orange, green, and red.

Batman frowned. "You shouldn't touch things that don't belong to you," he scolded gently.

Dick bit his lip. "I am sorry," he said as he handed the pile back to Zatara. He looked up at Batman for approval. "Better? You no eat me?"

Zatara's eyebrow lifted at the second reference to 'eating' the boy had made. "I should sincerely hope not."

"I won't eat you," Batman assured the child with a sigh.

"I'm afraid I do not understand this reference," Zatara said. His disapproval was obvious in his tone. "Why would the child believe you would eat him?"

"I believe he uses the word 'eat' as a euphemism for 'anger'," Batman explained. "I do not know where it came from. He had never used it before this happened to him."

"You knew him before this occurred, then," Zatara concluded.

There was no help for it, he realized. He would need to explain the child's identity . . . within reason, that is.

"He was my partner, Robin," Batman admitted reluctantly. "Although, he had taken on his new identity recently in his battle against crime." He had no desire to further explain the emergence of Nightwing.

Zatara stared at the child in surprise. "Robin? You are sure? Did you see the transformation happen? Did you happen to overhear the spell that was used?"

"I . . . was not present when he confronted the Gray Woman from the box," Batman told him. "But she has claimed responsibility for the change. She also stripped him of his memories. _All_ of them, apparently. He has no memories of being Robin or of his life before that."

"The Gray Woman?"

"That is what we call her for lack of a better name. She didn't exactly introduce herself when I met her. She has the appearance of one freshly dead," Batman told his colleagues. He hoped that one of the men might be able to recognize who she is with a description. "She resembles a corpse with dry, gray skin, black lips, black iridescent feathers instead of hair. Her eyes have double-irises that are golden and will glow when she's angry.

"Her movements are quick, almost bird-like," he continued. "She can form herself out of shadows and disappear again in the same fashion, and she can control ravens, making them do her bidding. Most importantly, she can somehow leech the life force out of people and leave them shriveled husks made up of dust that can with the slightest touch disintegrate."

"Ah, so, this is the powerful being you mentioned as being the source of the plague," Zatara commented.

Dick's face paled. Scrambling to his feet, he reached for Batman. The Dark Knight picked the child up as he continued his description.

"Her voice sounds like several all speaking at once. It can make the air vibrate and you can feel the rumble from it inside your body. She can create a force that is impossible for a normal human to push through, and exudes fear. She can control the wind and levitate." Batman finished. "Does this sound like anyone you've ever heard of? Even as a rumor or as part of an ancient myth? This legend, you spoke of, for example."

"I could not say for sure. A small part of what you describe reminds me of an ancient Celtic goddess named Morrigan," Fate murmured. "She was a goddess of death and war and rebirth, and had an affinity for ravens but I've never heard of her described in such a way."

"Everything points to the box being Celtic in origin. It doesn't appear to have been transplanted there as far as I can tell," Batman confirmed. "You are suggesting that the Gray Woman could be this goddess, Morrigan, then?"

"My abilities are nigh endless but, alas, I am not omniscient," Fate admitted. "I cannot recall ever meeting the one you have described. If it is Morrigan, she has returned from the dimension in which she has sought refuge considerably changed."

"Refuge?" Batman asked, curious as to the word Fate chose to use.

"She and many Celtic and druidic gods fled this corporal plain long ago for reasons unknown," Fate explained to him.

"A goddess? Hm, that _could_ explain why I felt no magical fingerprint around the boy other than this aura that radiates from the mark she left on his forehead," Zatara concluded. "Gods' powers manifest themselves differently than those of sorcerers. Still, there are ways to determine whether a god had tampered with reality. Whatever has befallen Robin, however, doesn't leave the usual trail behind it."

"What she did to Robin she referred to as a blessing," Batman said. "It makes sense then she could be a goddess."

Dick, who had been resting his head against Batman's shoulder until now, popped up. "Who Robin?"

"You," Batman spoke to the child softly, his normal growl easing somewhat. "You were Robin once. Do you remember?"

Dick frowned but there was no recognition in his eyes. That he didn't know either of those names sent a shaft of pain through Batman's chest. Dick Grayson had been Robin for nine and half years. It had defined him for more than half of his life. It had been a legacy he should have been able to take pride in but the memories of his selfless acts of heroism had all been erased from his mind.

"If this is the work of a goddess," Zatara said, "It may be beyond my abilities to reverse."

"Hm," Batman glanced at Dr. Fate. "Might you be able to help him? He is at a great disadvantage as a child should she return for him."

"If she is as powerful as you claim, his age would not make a difference," Fate told him. "I _can_ tell you that his fate is intertwined with this being. Much will depend on him."

"All the more reason to return him to his original state," Batman argued.

"The mark will not allow for it at this time."

"But it will allow for it . . . eventually?" Batman asked, pushing for more information.

Fate stepped back. "I must confer with another. I will return anon."

"Wait!" Batman called out but Fate disappeared, not bothering to use the zeta-tube this time. Unsettled by Fate's departure, Batman turned to Zatara. "Is there nothing that could help him?"

Zatara made a face in distaste. "I may know of someone who might be able to assist us. He has more knowledge of such archaic things than I. He may know of the legend I was telling you about or know someone who does."

Batman picked Dick up and followed Zatara back to the zeta-tube. "Time will be an issue. I am not equipped to deal with magic."

Zatara paused and pulled his top hat out of thin air. He reached inside and drew out a talisman shaped like coin on which a shield bearing a heart was inscribed.

"This isn't likely to withstand an attack by someone with god-like powers but it should afford you some small token of protection," Zatara set it in the middle of Batman's dark gloved hand. "Enough, perhaps, to give you a few extra minutes in which to devise an escape or shield you from a fatal blow."

Batman looked down at the coin dubiously. Dick plucked it from his palm and tried to stick it in his mouth, only to have Bruce take it away from him. Batman sighed.

"Of course, it would be the right size to become a choking hazard," he muttered sarcastically before remembering his manners. Alfred would have had his head had he been present. "Thank you, Zatara. I'm sure it will come in handy. Will you be returning 'anon' as well?"

"I shall," Zatara promised. "Of course, I may have to convince him first," he said quietly, under his breath.

"Take this list of symbols with you. It might help." Batman handed him the paper with his scribbled hieroglyphics drawn on it.

Zatara smiled, taking the proffered paper. "It couldn't hurt," he admitted. "Do you plan to enlist the help of the League?"

"I would prefer to have something more to tell them first," he told the older man. He didn't mention how close he had come to calling them in just that morning.

"If this Gray Woman is as dangerous as you say," Zatara added before stepping into the machine's light, "I fear they may hear of her soon enough. Do not wait too long, my friend," he warned.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Finally, will the mystery begin to unravel?**

 **This week was a mess. My brand-new router died and I had to return it. Afterwards, I had to wait for a member of the Geek Squad to come set it all up for me which didn't happen until yesterday. So, I've been without the internet pretty much all week, resorting to visiting the library in order to check my emails and whatnot. It's working perfectly now, thank you, God!**

 **Updates which you may or may not care about: My granddaughter was born on Monday (On my mother's birthday! How awesome is that?). Yep, that's right! "I" am a grandmother. I know, it is a shock for me, too. I get confused how this keeps happening to me when, in my headspace, I am still just 22 years old. Then my nasty, old mirror loves to remind me that whatever is going on in my brain, the rest of me is still aging at what I consider a much too rapid pace. I swear it was just a couple of years ago I was this exciting, fun, young chick living life and having a blast. Technically, I'm still having a blast. (You wouldn't believe how much fun it is to never get embarrassed or filter what comes out of my mouth anymore. The good part of getting older, I suppose. ;D )**

 **Anyhoo, my newest grandchild's named Eila Rosemary - pronounced Ay-la, according to my eldest.**

 **Also, check out my profile page for a new story out that I'm co-writing with Goingdownwithmyshipz. It's called "Shattered" and is found in the Young Justice fandom. We have TWO chapters up for you now. The prologue called "Lost Son" and "Gung Bao Chicken" (which is one of my personal favorites. but be prepared as Jason and Dick aren't exactly getting along at this time.).**

 ***Oh, and btw, I still don't own TMNT or any shows on HGTV or The Food Network. ;D***


	15. The Trouble with Flying

**Just a head's up! You will be hearing some background on Jason in this chapter. While I parallel some of his and others' history to pre-52 canon (sometimes closely), it is _not_ canon. This is an AU, and it is tweaked to fit my vision for what this universe's characters' lives should be like. Who knows! You might like my version better. Oh - and I do not own X-Box. If I did . . . Well, I'd probably still be writing fanfiction. This stuff is fun and addicting! ;D Anyhoo . . . Enjoy!**

 **Warning: Some language . . .**

* * *

"Where is he?"

Bruce recognized the voice immediately but, even had he not spoken, Bruce would have known his most current guest from the breeze and the sound of the whipping cape alone. Bruce was studying another symbol he had taken from the box, searching the internet for its meaning in obscure sites meant for modern day druids. He didn't bother turning around.

"Superman. Nice to see you again," Bruce murmured a little distractedly.

"Really?"

"No." Bruce gave a long-suffering sigh, finally turning around to face the Kryptonian busybody. "I should have known Flash wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut."

Clark blinked. "So, it _is_ true?"

Bruce stood up. "You would think that the League had better things to do with its time than to gossip amongst themselves like a bunch of old women."

"I want to see him," Clark said, ignoring the criticism. He looked up towards the ceiling and frowned. "Why can't I see into the manor?"

Bruce crossed his arms. "Because I coated the ceiling of the cave in a lead-based paint."

Clark looked at his friend, hurt. "That was rude," he complained.

"So is peeking into people's homes," Bruce answered, unfazed. "In fact, there is a Peeping Tom law for the entire county."

Clark smirked. "Thanks for the information, _Batman_."

Bruce grunted. He was aware of the irony of his annoyance with Superman's habit when he spent nearly every night breaking this and numerous other laws over the course of his investigations.

"He doesn't remember you, you know," Bruce told him. "He doesn't remember anything. He's barely got a grip on language."

Clark took a step closer, frowning. "What happened to him, Bruce? Where were you while all of this was going down? Last time I saw Dick, he was leaving Metropolis to come home. He had been hoping to work things out between you."

Bruce winced inwardly at the debacle of Dick's homecoming. He ignored the latter question to focus on the first. "I don't know exactly. I've been working to discover a way to reverse it."

"Without asking the League for help?" Clark asked incredulous. "This is Dick! You had to have known we wouldn't have refused you!"

"I did ask."

"Yes. Barry," Superman snorted. "You asked him to babysit, Bruce! And speaking of . . . who is this other boy Flash was talking about?"

"His name is Jason. I took him in after I discovered him attempting to boost the tires from the Batmobile," Bruce murmured, walking past him towards the table where he had laid out everything he had collected about this case so far.

Clark gave a bark of surprised laughter. "You're kidding."

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"Right. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment," he grinned. "So, the kid's got some intestinal fortitude about him, eh? Where are his parents?"

"Dead," Bruce replied. "Did you actually think I would take him in if his family were still alive?"

Clark pursed his lips as he thought about that for moment. "Would you?"

It was Bruce's turn to pause. "Maybe. Jason might have thanked me for it. His situation was less than ideal when his parents were alive."

"How so?"

"Jason's father was a criminal who was killed a year ago while serving out a sentence in Blackgate. Willis Todd was murdered after agreeing to testify against Two-Face in exchange for a lighter sentence. His mother was a drug addict. Although he told me she had been sick for a while, the autopsy report stated that Catherine Todd died from an overdose shortly before her husband's death. The toxicity levels in her blood were several times that of a fatal overdose, leading me to believe that her death was also murder. Done, I suspect, in retaliation of Willis' sell-out. If Jason had been home at the time of his mother's murder, I do not doubt that he, too, would have suffered a similar fate," Bruce told him.

"You will keep this quiet!" He pointed a finger at Clark to stress his point. "The boy doesn't know the details of his parents' deaths yet and I prefer to keep it that way for a while longer. He is angry enough at the world without adding to it. I'm trying to channel that anger into something constructive."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "By lying to him?"

"By not giving him a target," Bruce snapped. "His life has been difficult enough without adding the need for vengeance to an already full plate."

"Do you think he would actually try and go after Two-face? He's what? Flash said he thought he was fourteen or fifteen," Superman asked.

"He's fourteen," Bruce confirmed for him. "And I think he would attempt it and get killed in the process. His father was an abusive bastard when he drank from what I gathered but he was the boy's father. Jason grew up with nothing, you understand. That makes him extremely possessive over what he deems is his. Two-Face took both parents away from him. They might have been bad parents but they were all he had."

"Will Two-Face be a threat to him?"

"Jason's lived alone on the streets for a year. If Two-Face had wanted to, Jason would have been tracked down and killed before his mother's body was cold. He obviously doesn't consider the boy a threat." Bruce turned away and started the computer working on yet another search of ancient Celtic myths and legends that mentioned the goddess, Morrigan. "Jason is a good kid, Clark, who is doing the best he can with the hand he's been dealt. I'm not saying it hasn't been challenging. He's got a lot of anger and trust issues still but we're working through them."

"And you still trust him around Dick when the boy is unable to protect himself?" Clark looked back up at the ceiling, worriedly.

"Jason's earned the trust I have in him, Clark. If he hadn't, I'd never leave Dick alone with him," Bruce stated unequivocally as he returned his attention to his visitor.

"Fine. I'll trust your judgment in this. Does he know about all of this?" Superman waved a hand to encompass the cave.

"He does."

"And how did Dick take it when you told him about Jason?" Clark wanted to know.

Bruce turned away again, busying his hands rather than look at his friend. "It could have gone better."

"He thought you replaced him, didn't he?" Clark accused him. "Damn it, Bruce! Those months away from home were tough on him. He was unhappy with how the situation had been left between you."

"He said that?" Bruce tamped down of the little flair of jealousy. Dick had always had a good relationship with Clark, able to open up and talk to the Kryptonian far easier than he ever had with Bruce himself.

"Of course not!" Clark snorted, knowingly. "He's too much like you to do that. He'd never admit to something he considers a weakness. But, it was obvious, Bruce. Trust me on that. You didn't have to be a mind reader to know what was going on in his."

"Unfortunately, so long as his memories are missing, I can do nothing to rectify the situation."

"Is there anything I can do to assist?" Clark asked, moving to the table and looking down at the odd array of items gathered there.

"Not at this time," Bruce muttered, frustrated by his lack of success. Normally, he would have more patience but Dick was in danger and counting on him. Time was an issue.

"So, where are the boys now? I still want to see Dick for myself and to meet Jason," Clark told him.

"Upstairs," Bruce sighed. He'd get nothing accomplished until the big, blue Boy Scout was appeased. "Jason is keeping Dick entertained while Alfred rests for the day."

"I heard something about that," Clark said. "How is Alfred . . . really?"

"He claims he is perfectly fine and the results of the lab work from the hospital give inconclusive results. The doctor wanted him to stay for observation but, well, you know Alfred. I had to threaten him with unemployment unless he went to bed and stayed there for a day," Bruce leaned against the table, shoving his hands into his pockets. "The . . . _being_ that was responsible for all of this is incredibly powerful. I had worried that the old man had suffered a heart attack because of his proximity to the creature's effects."

"What sort of being are we talking about here?"

"Short of a name, I've been referring to it as the Gray Woman," Bruce told him.

"It is a female?" Clark asked, curiously. "Bi-pedal? Does she look human?"

"It appears to be female. She resembles what one might call a zombie but unlike any that one might find in a movie or comic book. I may be calling upon you soon enough but until I have more information, I wouldn't know what to ask of you." He hated to admit to this lack of knowledge. "At the moment, there is a theory that she may even be an ancient druid goddess called Morrigan but other than a couple of minor similarities, we cannot say for certain."

"Who is we?"

"So far, I've consulted with Zatara and Fate," Bruce told him.

"And neither could help?" Clark looked stunned. "That isn't very reassuring."

"No, it isn't," Bruce agreed. "They both left to confer with others that may know more."

"Perhaps Diana might be of some help, then," Clark suggested. "I know she's more familiar with the Greek Pantheon but she might be able to learn something."

"I'll be considering that next," Bruce said.

"I'll wait to hear from you, then," Clark promised. "In the meantime, the boys . . .?"

Bruce hesitated, glancing at the gaudy costume the other chose to wear.

"Oh, come on! You aren't actually going to prevent me from meeting them, are you?" Clark threw his arms up in the air. "What are you afraid of exactly?"

"It's not that I'm afraid," Bruce was quick to deny.

"Then what is it?" the Kryptonian demanded, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"They won't be meeting you as Superman," Bruce stated simply.

Both eyebrows shot up. "You want me to change into Clark Kent for this?"

Bruce smirked. "Are you afraid you won't impress them without the cape?"

"It's not that," Clark denied.

"Isn't it? You were used to Dick idolizing you from the moment he met you. News flash, Superman. He doesn't remember Clark Kent," Bruce told him, "Nor does he have a clue of who Superman is."

"Why, then, the distinction?"

"The rules of the manor haven't changed," Bruce shrugged.

"No capes upstairs," Clark quoted. He sighed. "Couldn't you bring them down . . ."

"No," Bruce interrupted. "Dick is currently a curious three-year-old. The Batcave is hardly the place for him. It's too . . ."

"Dangerous?" Clark finished for him. "You'd know I'd keep him safe."

". . . cold and damp," he said. "He is only allowed down here when it is absolutely necessary . . . and _this_ isn't necessary. Not when you can change and go through the front door like any normal person."

Clark snorted. "Batman is lecturing me on normal?"

"Take it or leave it, Clark. Makes no difference to me," Bruce turned back to the table, opening one of the books there and flipping through its pages.

"Fine, fine . . . I'll change and come through the front door as Clark Kent."

Bruce grunted but didn't bother turning around as he picked up a pen and began scribbling down some information. Clark used his super-vision to see what it was but the contents of the pages made no sense to him. He was turning to leave when Bruce called out to him. Clark looked back but Bruce was still facing away. Rude . . . but it said something that the Man of Steel accepted this behavior from someone he considered a friend without protest. It wouldn't matter if he did, Bruce would never change.

"Don't ring the doorbell," Bruce instructed him. "And be quiet! Alfred is supposed to be resting and if he gets wind that there is a guest in the house . . ."

"Understood . . ." Clark agreed easily. "Alfred's not cooperating."

"Alfred is stubborn."

Clark laughed. "Like butler, like employer, then. So, how're you going to know when I arrive back here?"

Bruce looked over his shoulder at him, finally. "I'm Batman."

"Of course, you are," Clark said with an eyeroll.

"Like a normal person, Clark," Bruce reminded him one last time.

He was Superman, with senses far beyond those of a normal human being and yet, despite more than a decade as colleagues and of friendship, Clark still didn't have a clue how Bruce managed to stay ten steps ahead of everyone, including him! He lifted off the floor.

"I'll be back," he announced and flew off at lightning speed, creating a wind tunnel effect within the cave.

Clark grinned as his hearing picked up the sound of Bruce's grunt of annoyance as the other man rushed to prevent all his notes from scattering.

* * *

Clark knew that Bruce had expected him to change and drive up to the manor but time was an issue. He didn't have the time to drive the three hours from Metropolis to Gotham and back. Bruce was attempting to buy some time but Clark wanted his answers now. So, it was only minutes later that the Man of Steel landed in the wooded area within the estate, changed to his alter-ego, and walked the distance across the lawn to the front door.

He was grinning as he imagined the look of exasperation on Bruce's face when he opened the door. He remembered the man's order to not ring the doorbell when his finger was barely an inch from the button. He wanted to irritate Batman, not anger him. He pulled back and knocked instead, wondering if he had given Bruce enough time to reach the manor from the cave.

* * *

Jason grabbed Dickie and pulled him back down from the bannister. As fun as polishing the wooden railing could be, three-years was a little young to manage the feat safely. As annoying as Jay found Dickie's older version, he found he enjoyed the younger boy even more. Things were always exciting with the little anklebiter running around, but Jay didn't want it to be so exciting that the imp splattered himself across the marble foyer.

"Sorry, bud, but that is beyond your scope right now," he told the child as he led him down the stairs by the hand.

"No beyond my scope," Dickie denied, popping his 'P'. Liking the sound, he continued to make popping noises with his lips as he hopped down the steps.

Jason felt the boy tug free of his hand just before they reached the bottom. He turned around to see Dickie standing on the fifth step up. He frowned.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked.

"I wanna jump," Dick told him with a grin.

"I thought you wanted a sandwich," Jason corrected.

"Move, Jay-Jay," Dickie ordered. "I wanna jump!"

Jason remained planted, crossing his arms. "Stop calling me Jay-Jay; and you're too high. Come down a step and I'll catch you."

"I not too high," Dick countered. "Move, Jay! Pease?"

"You are, too. You'll get hurt and wake Alfred up," Jason argued. "Come down a step."

"I no want you catch me!"

"Sh!" Jason waved his hands to quiet the boy. Bruce would be pissed if Alfred heard them and got up. It took him forever to get the butler to agree to take part of the day off. "Bruce will get mad if you wake Alfred up."

Dickie blinked. "Bwoose eat me?" he squeaked.

Jason hesitated. "He might . . ."

Dick stopped yelling but he remained standing on the fifth step. _Man, the little snot is stubborn_ , Jason thought.

"We can stand here all day, brat, but you said you were hungry," Jay reminded him.

"I no bat," Dick announced, "Bwoose is bat."

"Sh! I said 'brat', not bat." Jason's eyes rounded. "You can't go around saying that! That's a secret."

"What a secret?"

"A secret means you aren't supposed to tell," Jason explained. "Now, get down here and I'll make you a sandwich."

"No wanna sammich," Dick said, shaking his head. "I want Alfed."

"Well, you can't have him. Alfred's resting. I told you that." This was getting ridiculous. "You'll just have to eat my cooking this time."

"Jay's cooking's yucky," Dick told him, pouting.

Jason frowned. "Hey! You liked it well enough yesterday when I made you peanut butter and jelly."

"I want macroni-cheese."

"Fine. Whatever. I can make that, too." Jason snapped. "Get down here or I'm going to come up and get you."

Dick's eyes widened at the threat, and he backed up onto the sixth step. Jay groaned.

"Okay," he groused. "I'm coming to get you."

Dick tensed as if he were going to run from the older boy as Jason put a foot on the bottom step. He didn't have all day; he was hungry, too, but before he could chase the little imp down someone knocked on the door.

The knock startled Jason. People didn't just show up at Wayne Manor without an invite or a phone call, and no one had buzzed to get past the gate because Jason would have had to let them in. He stared at the door, trying to decide if he should call Alfred or Bruce, when Dickie used his distraction to his advantage. Jason saw the little bundle of energy fly past his eye, and spun around to see the boy roll up onto his feet like it was nothing and rush towards the front door.

"I GET IT!" Dick yelled as he raced to let the visitor in, leaving Jason to scramble after him.

"Hey! No! Wait!"

Jason lunged but the kid was fast. Dick was tugging the door open before the teen could reach him. The man standing on the other side was tall, taller than Bruce even, although he kind of slouched a bit as if he were trying to appear less imposing but there was no hiding those broad shoulders. To Jason, who barely reached the guy's chest, the ploy didn't work. Dick barely topped his knees.

Dick's head bent back to gaze up at the stranger. "Who you?" he demanded.

The man blinked in surprise and squat down to better speak to the child. "Great Scott! Look at _you_!"

"My name not Scott," Dickie blurted. "My name . . ."

Jason slapped a hand over Dickie's mouth and pushed the boy behind him. "Answer his question!" Jay barked the order. So, what if he appeared rude? This guy just showed up unannounced. "Who are you and how did you get onto this property without someone buzzing you in?"

The man looked a little surprised, by Jason's rudeness or because the boy was intelligent enough to catch him in a lie, Jay didn't know, but he stammered for a second.

"Bruce let me in," he finally said after a slight hesitation.

"Nice try, asswipe, but I wasn't born yesterday." _Bruce was still busy downstairs_.

Jason shoved Dickie back into the house as he tried to slam the door in the guy's face. It might have worked if the man hadn't stepped forward and caught the door first.

 _Jeez, the guy is like a brick wall_ , Jay thought abruptly. He was suddenly worried. He wasn't sure he could take this guy with Dick underfoot; how could Jason keep the boy safe?

The man stepped into the foyer around Jay and let the door slam shut. He placed a palm on Jason's forehead to hold the boy off when Jason tried to rush him.

"Take it easy, Jason. I'm a friend of Bruce's," the guy told him. "My name is Clark Kent."

"Nice to meet you, Clark," Jason grabbed Clark's wrist. "Goodbye."

He twisted the man's arm behind him and attempted trip him in a move Bruce had shown him that would slam him into the floor. Jason realized quickly that Clark only allowed him to complete a portion of the move. When he tried to trip him, Jay might as well have been kicking concrete.

"Enough. I'm not here to hurt you . . . either of you," Clark told him.

"Then maybe I won't have to kick your ass," Jay said in a show of bravado.

He threw a punch, just like Bruce had showed him but Clark caught his fist in his hand. Jason blinked to see the stranger's hand completely engulfed his own. Before he could break the hold, however, Clark released him. Jason shoved the man away but only managed to push himself backward. The guy didn't budge!

 _What's this guy on_? _Steroids_?

Even at fourteen Jason was no pushover, but nothing he did had any effect at all. He backed away carefully. He was going to have to call for help. He chanced a glance behind him to check on Dick only to discover the boy was gone.

"Leave Jason 'lone!"

Jay spun around to see Dickie pounding on the man's leg. The child had run around Jason to attack the stranger himself! Clark scooped up the boy by the back of his shirt and held him up in front of him.

"Here now, Dick. You're going to break your hands doing that. Then Bruce would have to give me a hard time." Clark smiled as he caught sight of the child's shirt. It was a navy-blue t-shirt that read ' _Got Patience?_ '. He chuckled. "That seems to be apropos."

"You no eat Jason!" Dick demanded.

"Let him go!" Jason demanded.

To Jay's surprise, Clark did just that. He set Dick back on the floor and sent him off with a gentle pat on his bottom.

"Run along, Dickie. I'll see you in a bit," Clark told him before turning to face Jason again. "If you would just calm down, we could get this misunderstanding straightened out. Why don't you call Bruce or Alfred? I'll wait right here."

"How did you get in? I didn't hear you call in and I didn't buzz you in," Jason asked again. "And don't tell me Bruce did it because he would have told me to expect you."

"I'll admit this visit was a little short notice but I assure you . . ."

"Clark," Bruce's voice cut through the room. "I would have come straight up had I realized you were going to rush."

They watched as Bruce ruffled the top of Dickie's head to reassure the boy that everything was alright, and then he moved on to greet his guest.

Jason stepped back as the two men shook hands. He glanced up at Bruce. "You know this guy?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Bruce smirked. "He's a reporter out of Metropolis."

Clark smiled at Jason as if their little skirmish never happened. "I told him we were friends but he didn't believe me," he told Bruce.

Jason scowled. "That's because Bruce doesn't have friends."

Clark winced. "Ouch! Really, Bruce? No friends at all?"

Bruce shrugged, unconcerned. "More like friendly acquaintances. High Society is rather like a jungle and its inhabitants have been known to eat their own on occasion. And business associates are . . . business associates."

"A reporter, huh?" Jason crossed his arms, scrutinizing the new guy. "After that bit you told me about all reporters being vultures . . . Kind of hypocritical of you, isn't it?"

Clark raised his eyebrows but didn't bother defending his fellow journalists. He knew quite a few who had little to no ethics when going after a story and, when the news story centered around Bruce Wayne, particularly in here in Gotham, they could be downright cutthroat.

"There are one or two that still hold to their professional integrity," Bruce informed the teen. "Clark is one of them."

"But what about . . .?" Jason waggled his eyebrows and tilted his head in the direction he had last seen Dick.

Bruce glanced back at the boy whom this visit revolved around only to discover him gone. He turned around.

"Dickie? Where are you?" Bruce called even as his eyes found him.

Growing bored with the big people conversing all around him, Dick had climbed back to the top of the staircase again and, from there, onto the bannister. He sat precariously on a rail that had been polished within an inch of its life. He grinned, thrilled to be taller than everyone else for a change.

"Here I is! Bwoose! Jay-Jay, look what I can do!" He exclaimed happily.

"Dick! Don't move!" Bruce yelled even as he and Jason ran for the stairs.

Several thuds sounded against the front door and nearby windows as the ravens, sensing danger, attempted to reach the child as well. Dick jumped on his perch at the sound, losing his balance. Tumbling backward from the slippery railing, Dick plunged toward the marble floor. Jason gasped even as Bruce hurtled the bannister in a bid to catch the child before tragedy struck.

But suddenly the reporter was there first holding the boy safe in his arms . . . but _not_ on the floor. Clark Kent was hovering several feet in the air, just above Bruce's head. Jay grabbed the bannister and stared.

"H-How?" he blinked and then blinked again. "Wait! You . . . You're Superman, aren't you?"

Even a street kid like Jason knew about the hero from Metropolis. A freaking alien with mega-powers was floating in their foyer! He glanced at Bruce who was standing below them with his hands on his hips. _Only Batman would have the cajones to glare at Superman like that_ , Jason thought wildly.

Clark sighed. "That's the trouble with flying," he muttered as he slowly floated back down to the floor. "People tend to figure it out quickly when they see you doing it."

"You're friends with _Superman_?" he exclaimed, disbelieving. "And you don't _tell_ me?"

Bruce glanced at him. "I work with him in the Justice League, Jason. Of course, I know him."

"Well, yeah," Jason grumped as he stomped back down the stairs, "but you didn't say he was someone who might drop in for a visit."

"Would it have made a difference?" Bruce asked calmly.

Jason hesitated as he thought about it. "Well, no . . . not really. But I might not have tried to slam the door in his face." He looked at Clark with a squirming, squealing toddler in his arms. "That explains how you got past the gate and why there's no car out front."

"Guilty as charged," Clark winced slightly. The new boy was quick. "Although, in my defense, I was in a hurry to meet you and this little guy right here."

Dick leaned backward over the man's arm to look at Bruce gleefully. "Do again! Do again!"

Bruce took the boy and set him on his hip. "I think that's enough acrobatics for today, young man."

Dick twisted around so that he could see Jason. "Did you see me, Jay-Jay? Did you? Did you?"

"Yeah, I saw you, squirt," Jason grumbled. The kid took twenty years off his life. He would have to keep track of how many times the brat scared the pants off of him and take it out of Dick's hide once he got changed back to normal. "And quit calling me Jay-Jay!"

"I sorry," Dick pouted with big eyes as he did the lip-thing. It was like he knew how cute he was.

Jason poked the boy's shoulder with a finger. "And stop with the eyes already! It doesn't work on me."

It did . . . It totally did, but Jason only had so much self-control. He knew if he gave in once to the little snot, it was all over for him. The brat would have him wrapped around his finger for sure, batting those lashes at him at every turn. Dick laid his head on Bruce's shoulder and stared at him, trying to outlast the teen, but Jason held firm, biting his cheek to keep from smiling.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd fall off the bannister, brat?" Jason scolded. "You should have listened to me."

"I sorry, Jay . . ." Dick abruptly held out his arms for the teenager. The child totally preferred Bruce when he had a choice, but he didn't like Jason mad at him. Bruce handed him over when Jason moved to take him.

"Wow!" Clark whistled. "You didn't say Dick developed a super-power when he was . . . What did you call it? De-aged? Those are some pretty powerful moves he's got there."

Bruce smirked. "He's always had _that_ one."

Dick clapped his hands onto Jason's cheeks and stared hard into his eyes. "Jason no eat me?" he asked worriedly.

Jason sighed. "I won't eat you."

"Good heavens! What on earth is going on out here?" Alfred stood in the hallway that lead to the kitchen and his personal suite of rooms, looking perfectly put together. "Mr. Kent? I didn't hear you ring? How are you, sir?"

Bruce sighed and Clark winced.

"That is only because I didn't ring. I was trying not to disturb you," Clark explained. "And I am quite well, thank you, Alfred, but I hear that I should be asking you that question. How are you doing?"

Alfred merely raised an eyebrow.

"Alfred, you were supposed to be resting," Bruce complained.

"Quite so, sir. I assure you that it was enormously helpful, but I am more than ready to return to my duties," the butler answered politely. "Might I offer you some refreshment, Mr. Kent?"

"Oh, well, I - . . ."

"Say no," Bruce instructed. "If Mr. Kent wishes something to eat, he knows where the kitchen is," he told the older man.

"Since when have your manners regressed into the barbaric," Alfred scolded. He would not normally do such a thing, but this was Mr. Kent, after all, and the man was practically family. "Of course, we must offer."

"Yay!" Dickie said. "Alfed cook macroni-cheese, pease?"

"Hey! I told you I would make it for you, punk," Jason argued.

"My name not punk. My name Dickie," the toddler insisted, speaking slowly so Jason might understand. "Alfed cooks better."

The older man tightened his lips to curb his amusement, but Jason recognized the struggle. He wasn't offended, though. He agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. Alfred did cook better.

"Certainly, Master Dick," Alfred agreed easily. "And perhaps tea and scones in the office for Master Bruce and his guest?"

"Actually, Alfred," Clark said, "I'm here to see the boys."

If he was surprised by this, no one could tell. Alfred simply nodded. "Then if you would care to retire to the den, I will prepare a small repast to tide you over until lunch is ready."

Bruce glared at all of them, but centered it mostly on Clark as Alfred left for the kitchen. A "see what you did now?" sort of accusation, but they were all culpable. Jason let Dick slide to the floor, but the boy skipped away before he could grab the child's hand. The boy stopped in front of their guest.

"Up!" Dick demanded, holding his arms up.

Clark grinned so hard his eyes crinkled as he obliged the boy. "I'm certain Dick would be annoyed with what I'm about to say were he normal right now but, Bruce, he's absolutely adorable."

Bruce grunted agreeably.

"You're going to spoil him," Jason grumbled. _The kid had legs; let him use them_.

"You come see my room?" Dick asked Clark.

Bruce and Jason looked a little surprised. Dick hadn't wanted to go into his room since the night before last, after the Gray Woman had visited him there.

"Sure thing, kiddo. You lead the way," Clark moved to set the boy down but Dick clung to him.

"No! You fwy," Dick said.

Clark frowned.

"He meant ' _fly_ ', didn't you, Dickie. He wants you to _fly_ him up there," Jason supplied helpfully.

"Fllllly!" Dick squealed with excitement, emphasizing the 'L's' as he was taught. He bounced in Clark's arms. "Fly! Fly! Pease?"

Clark checked with Bruce first. "I don't mind but I think there are rules that say I can't."

"FLY!" Dick reached his arms up in the air. "I want FLY!"

"I knew letting you come up here was a bad idea," Bruce complained.

"Sorry, kiddo. I tried," Clark told him as he made for the stairs. "Bruce, you might want to check out front. I thought I heard some birds fly into your window earlier, when Dick fell from the bannister."

"I'm sure you did," Bruce said as he and Jason followed the two up the staircase towards the bedrooms. "They come part and parcel with the problem I was telling about downstairs. But we can discuss that at another time, when we're away from little ears."

Since Dick didn't get to fly, he squirmed to get down.

"Down," he told Clark imperiously.

"Manners," Bruce reminded him.

Jason snorted. "Do as I say and not as I do?"

"Exactly." Bruce pushed Jason's head down, playfully ruffling his hair.

"Down, pease?" Dick asked obediently.

"Plllllease," Bruce corrected, emphasizing the 'L's' for the boy again.

"PLLLLEEAASE!" Dick yelled at the top of his lungs before breaking into a fit of giggles.

He grabbed Clark's forefinger and tugged him along. The Man of Steel stumbled along behind him as if the guy couldn't resist a tank if he wanted. But the boy didn't take him to his room; instead, Dick led him to the door to Jason's room. Jay didn't bother protesting but followed along curiously. He and Bruce stopped just inside the door.

"This Jason's bed," Dick patted the bed. "Sit!"

Clark sat, but sent a frowning glance back at the doorway. Dick grabbed up the controller to Jason's X-Box game station. Jay started to move; he didn't like the boy touching his stuff like this, but Bruce laid a hand on his shoulder.

"This Jason's cumtwoller," he announced, shoving the device into Clark's hands.

"You mean 'controller'?" Clark took a turn attempting to correct Dick's garbled pronunciation, only to have Dick stop and stare at him.

"That what I say," he told him before jerking the controller back out of his hands. "Jay-Jay no like you messing it up," he said as he put the device back where he found it with extra care. He patted the game station. " _No touch_!"

Jason had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing as he listened to Dick dictate Jason's rules to the most powerful man in the world. The boy went on, moving from one object to another, showing Clark all of Jason's stuff, always with a serious admonition to not touch it afterwards. Finally, Dick stopped at the head of the bed where he had spent the previous night with Jay. He picked up the raggedy, stuffed elephant that Bruce had given him just the other night and carried it over next.

"This is Elephant. She mine," Dick told him softly. "Bwoose give me."

Unsure of what to say, Clark tried a compliment. "She's lovely."

"You can hold her," Dick told him generously, shoving the toy at the man. "She hug good."

"Does she?" Clark turned the stuffed animal over in his hands.

"You hug her!" Dick insisted. He grabbed Clark's hands and pushed the elephant closer to his chest. " _Hug her_!"

Clark obeyed the imperious command, glancing back at his host curiously. He patted the toy awkwardly and handed her back. "You're right. She hugs very nicely."

Dickie shook his head. " _You_ hold her."

"Oh, okay," Clark agreed. "Don't you want to show me _your_ room now? This room is Jason's."

Dick frowned and shook his head. "No. I seep here . . . Sllllleep," he corrected himself quickly.

"Where are your other toys?" Clark looked around but everything in the room was suited for a teenaged boy rather than a toddler.

Dick shrugged, finally taking Eleanor out of Clark's hands and hugging her himself. "Elephant hug good," he said again and put her gently back on the pillow.

"I hungry," he announced suddenly. "Come. You come," he demanded, tugging at Clark to get him up and moving.

* * *

As Dick grabbed hold of Jason's hand and led the way to the kitchen, Clark followed, walking beside Bruce.

"He only has one toy?" he asked the other man.

"Most of Dick's old toys are in the attic now but even they are more suited to an older child than a toddler," Bruce admitted quietly. "He's only been de-aged for a couple of days so far. I had hoped that I might have found a way to reverse it by now. Unfortunately, that hasn't happened yet. Shopping for age-appropriate toys for a three-year-old hasn't been my top priority when there is the Gray Woman to locate and deal with."

"Is there not a way to convince her to change him back?" Clark asked softly.

"When I faced her for the first time, my mind was focused more on not dying before I could convince her to leave Dick with me. Had she stuck around longer and been open to having dialogue, I'm sure I would have gotten around to it eventually," Bruce snarked.

"Sarcasm, Bruce? Is she so formidable, then?" Clark asked next.

Bruce paused, letting the boys get farther ahead of them. "Yes. She was by far the most terrifying creature I have ever encountered," he admitted. "Including anything we've faced in the League."

Clark frowned, obviously startled by such a pronouncement. "Perhaps I should call an emergency meeting?"

"Not just yet. I am currently searching out the most logical avenues. Magic seems like the best method for dealing with her at the moment," Bruce said.

Nodding in understanding, Clark went on, "Fine. I trust your judgement. _But_ , in the meantime . . . it might be nice if Dick had something other than game stations and bannisters with which to amuse himself."

"Seriously, Clark. I don't have time for this," Bruce shook his head as they moved to catch up to the boys. " _If_ , for some reason, we cannot find a way to return him to his correct age then, _of course_ , I will see to it he has plenty of toys that will both educate and encourage imaginative play. Right now, I need to discover a way to locate and contain the dangerous being responsible."

"You do seem busy, so how about you let me deal with this one small thing for you, just for now," Clark told him. "With luck, Dick will be back to normal in no time, and you can donate whatever he gets to one of your orphanages."

Bruce sighed and nodded, agreeing. "It _is_ a good idea. Jason has his hands full at times trying to entertain him when he's not at school. But, I can't let it get around to the paparazzi that I have a toddler running around the manor. At least, not until we run out of options and I can come up with a reasonable explanation for his presence."

Bruce looked Clark in the eye. "I _will not_ risk CPS involving themselves. I _cannot_ lose him to the system, Clark! You understand."

"Not to worry," Clark reassured him. "I'm here as your friend, not a reporter. You keep working on the problem at hand. Let me know if you need any assistance from the League; but, in the meantime, I can take care of this much for you."

"Appreciated," Bruce said. "Now, I assume you're sticking around for lunch?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Clark grinned. "I happen to love macaroni and cheese."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I hope you guys are noticing the t-shirts I'm putting Dick in. Apparently, Leslie had a wonderful time buying these. You can blame Jason for picking which he wears. Much more fun that anything Alfred might have chosen. I have a list of funny sayings for Dick to wear. ;D**


	16. The Demon and The Creeping Willow

**Your patience is greatly appreciated. This chapter was much harder than the others to write, but I'm hoping that its length with make up for the wait. Watch for scene changes and switches in POV. All is separated by a line, but if you have questions, I can answer them if you have an account. Because this is an AU, I've taken some liberties with some character backgrounds or appearances. (Not a lot. You might not even notice. More in the A/N at the end of the chapter.)**

 **Warnings: Language, Reference to Smoking and Alcohol Use, Disturbing Imagery . . .**

* * *

"So, now that you've heard, will you come?"

"I told you, Zatara, I cannot help you." John Constantine tugged another cigarette from the pocket of his overcoat. He had long ago bespelled that pocket to produce an endless supply of cigarettes in his favorite menthol brand.

"Cannot?" Zatara demanded to know. "Or will not?"

Constantine took a long drag, the cigarette magically lighting on its own as soon as he took the first pull. The smoke filled his lungs. He held it for a long moment before he allowed it to exit when he began speaking.

"I don't know anything to help you, mate. I'm sorry," he said, then coughed, clearing his throat . . . of the lie? Even Constantine didn't know the extent of it.

"How can you know nothing more? _I_ heard of the legend from _you_ ," Zatara reminded him.

"Then you probably know everything that I know about it," Constantine said, speaking around the cigarette now hanging from his lips. "Look, Zatara, I was drunk when the story was told to me by this Fae chick I was dating at the time. As I make it a point not to listen to post-coital babbling, I can't even guarantee what I told you was correct."

Zatara didn't bother to hide his distaste, nor his disapproval, of his companion's life. "Do you know where your Fae friend heard of it, perhaps? Her kind haven't inhabited earth's dimensional plane in more than a millennium."

"Your guess is as good as mine," the other man said as he sat in the overstuffed easy chair that had seen better decades.

Zatara didn't leave as he knew Constantine had been hoping. Batman had convinced the magician of the seriousness of the threat and he believed that finding the source of the legend was their best hope of learning how to defeat it.

"I can outwait you, you know," Constantine drawled once he realized Zatara was content to hang around. "So, how's Zatanna these days?"

Zatara ignored the question. He knew the romance between Constantine and his daughter hadn't ended happily. Zatanna hadn't shared the details, for which he was thankful, but her refusal to discuss anything to do with the shabby English warlock said enough.

Ten minutes later, Constantine sighed heavily. "She said something about a druid priestess who was reportedly present during the making of the legend. This priestess supposedly traveled to Fae for some reason afterwards. It could be all bunk, you realize?"

"Might you know where I could find this particular Fae?" Zatara asked. "I could put my questions to her then and leave you alone."

Constantine chuckled. "She probably wouldn't speak to me, even if I could find her for you."

Zatara sighed. "You are familiar with Celtic and druidic symbols, are you not?"

The other man narrowed his eyes and shrugged. He tossed the spent cigarette into the air where it promptly disappeared as he pulled another from his pocket.

"I don't want anything to do with this, John, and I certainly don't have any desire to visit the Bat. He and I . . . Well . . ."

"Has this anything to do with my daughter?"

Zatanna had also seen the Dark Knight socially a few times. Nothing came of it, of course. The man was nothing if not obsessed with his mission and seldom allowed anything to come between it and him, women included. It had ended amicably enough, but apparently, his fellow magician felt a bit threatened by the other man, nonetheless.

"What? No!" Constantine denied vehemently. "Er . . . I don't suppose that she's mentioned me, per chance . . . You know, in passing or whatever?"

"Only in conjunction with a particular voodoo doll . . ." Zatara murmured, waving a hand dismissively.

Constantine rubbed a hand absentmindedly across his chest. "Huh, that would explain a lot, actually . . ."

Zatara took a step forward. "John, this legend speaks of the end of the world. The entire earth is in danger . . . Zatanna could be in danger if we do not understand this legend and prepare ourselves to meet this threat head-on."

"You and Zatanna are welcome to sit this one out here in the House of Mystery . . ." Constantine offered, in his mind, generously.

"You selfish bastardo!" Zatara snarled at him.

The other man blinked in confusion. "Selfish? After I just invited you and Z to ride out the Apocalypse here with me?"

"You would doom the earth, however. We, all of us, are of the earth. We were born there, have lived our lives, had families, made friends . . . Escaping simply isn't an option for us! Zatanna and I still have a great many friends on the planet. How can I not stand with them against this danger? How can you not?" Zatara raged at him.

"The earth hasn't all that many happy memories for me as it does for you and, as for friends . . ." Constantine shrugged.

"That is only because your self-serving ways and underhanded manipulation of those who would befriend you has driven most of them away," Zatara summed up mercilessly. "But _this_ is bigger than you."

"I don't know. My ego has been described as planet-sized," Constantine joked.

"I need you to find your Fae friend and bring her to see Batman," Zatara said, choosing to ignore the man's terrible humor. There had to be something redemptive within John Constantine for Zatanna to have loved him at all.

"I'm telling you, John, she won't come. Not for me, anyway."

Zatara rubbed his forehead with two fingers, sighing. "Must you ruin every relationship you're involved in? I wonder how many women are out there that will no longer speak to you."

Constantine laughed. "Oh, countless, I'm sure. But it isn't just the women, you know. A lot of the men won't speak to me either. I suppose you could call me an equal-opportunity asshole."

"Do not look to me to dispute that. I would not be here either if I didn't believe in my heart that the fate of the world rested upon this knowledge."

"Tell Zatanna, no hard feelings, huh?" the other man leaned his elbows on his knees and played with his fourth cigarette since Zatara had arrived at the House of Mystery.

Zatara crossed his arms. "The Batcave."

Constantine nodded. "Fine, I'll see what I can do. It may take some time, though."

"Time is of the essence."

"It always is." Constantine smiled. "You know, I think I have an incantation that will slow time. If you like, I can . . ."

"No more jokes," Zatara snapped. "Despite of what you tell yourself in the mirror, you are _not_ that funny." He turned on his heel and walked out the door, away from this dimensional anomaly and back to his earthly reality.

"Who said I was joking?" Constantine called after him, but the door had already closed, leaving him alone again. He leaned back in his armchair and stared up at the ceiling, asking the spirit of the House. "You think I'm funny, don't you?"

A whisper came with a slight breeze, incongruously since it was within an enclosed space, speaking to him . . .

"Hilarious," it said.

* * *

"Well? How'd it go?" Zatanna asked when her father reappeared before her. "Is he going to help?"

"He will," Zatara confirmed as he took off his gloves and set them inside his top hat. "Although, I will never understand what you saw in that cretin. At least, Bruce Wayne is aware of proper social etiquette whenever he is not dressed as a bat."

Zatanna smiled and kissed her father's cheek. "It is hard to explain," she told him. "And, if I recall, you never understood Bruce either."

Zatara sighed. "I worry for your future progeny."

"You will love your future grandchildren no matter who their father turns out to be," she assured him.

"Only because _you_ will be a part of them," Zatara grumbled before turning serious. "But, there may not be any grandchildren if there is no future."

Zatanna frowned. "You _are_ worried."

He nodded. "I am. What I have seen and heard is far from reassuring. Even Fate is worried," he told her. "We may need to gather our allies if this threat is truly a death goddess run amok. The legend spoke of the deaths of tens of thousands all within the course of a single day."

"It could be an exaggeration," Zatanna reminded him. "Legends have a tendency to grow more fantastic over the course of centuries and this one is said to be more than a millennium in the making."

"We can only pray and prepare, daughter," Zatara murmured, "but I have a bad feeling about this one. I fear that it has lost some of its truth rather than gathered lies over the course of centuries. I worry that this threat may be even greater than its legend describes. Lives have already been lost. How many more must die until we can stop it?"

"What can I do, Father?"

"Search out others that would be willing to stand with us," Zatara told her. "I would rather be mocked for being wrong than to fail because I was right yet failed to prepare."

"I will do what I can," Zatanna promised.

"That is all anyone can ask," he said as he prepared to go to inform Batman of what little he had been able to learn.

* * *

Doctor Fate appeared in the library of an obscure mansion in rural England. The owner wasn't interested in visitors or socializing. If rumors of the manor being haunted were going around, nobody bothered to refute them. Fate suspected that the owner might have even been behind a few of the disturbing tales circulating about the countryside of murder and mayhem.

Normally, Fate would honor the person's wishes for privacy but, in this case, the fate of the world hung in the balance. The fate of the world . . . What he had felt while handling the iron prison within the Batcave suggested that the creature that had been released could pose a danger to more than just the planet's inhabitants, but to the larger population of . . . the galaxy? Something greater still? The future was hazy, even to him, and that alone was enough to spur him to help solve this mystery and attempt to contain the power that threatened them all.

The child was the key but how, he didn't know exactly. Never in all his thousands of years existence had Nabu felt this level of confusion and powerlessness. If he couldn't find the help he sought here, Fate would need to travel farther afield for his answers and look to unlikely sources for assistance in suppressing this strange, unknown entity.

"Jason Blood. Your services are required," Fate stated simply.

Jason Blood glanced at his unwanted visitor. If he were surprised, he gave no indication of it. "Your manners need work, Nabu."

"We have need of knowledge that your demon, Etrigan, may hold," Fate told him.

Jason's nostrils flared along with his temper but, when he spoke, his words were firm yet measured.

"No. I cannot risk freeing the demon," Jason said, refusing him outright. "What knowledge do you seek? Perhaps there is another method of finding it rather than putting lives in danger by loosing a demon into the world."

"I seek the knowledge from a denizen of hell. Would you prefer to embark with me on a journey there or will you go with me to Gotham in order for your demon to be questioned?" Fate asked.

Jason snorted, but not with amusement. "There is no guarantee that the demon would bother to answer your questions."

"That would be unfortunate."

"Hardly," Jason closed the book he had been reading and set it aside. "You should thank me for sparing you the time wasted."

"The result of your refusal will most likely result in the death of the earth," Fate admitted. "I do not believe gratefulness will follow such an outcome."

Jason stood up, scowling. "You are not giving me much of a choice, are you?"

"The time for choices has long passed, I fear," Fate said.

Jason scowled, slamming his fist into the side table and breaking it. The book, the lamp, and the small vase it held all fell to the floor, two of the items shattering upon impact. When he looked up at his visitor, his face was composed once again.

"We'll be there," Jason told him.

"Thank you," Fate said, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the other man's displeasure.

"Do not thank me for this, Nabu. I do it under protest," Jason growled, bending down to pick up the book. He tucked it back onto the shelf and turned. "When do we leave?"

"Now."

When the light faded, the library was empty but for the broken remains of the small table and its contents.

* * *

The afternoon went smoothly. Bruce spent an hour of Clark's visit observing as the man went out of his way to win over the boys. Jason spent the time interrogating him on his powers and the supervillains he had fought while Dickie would continually ask to 'fly' again over top of Jason's questions. It had taken Bruce some considerable self-discipline to not laugh outright at the beleaguered expression Clark had taken on only fifteen minutes into it. He had shot Bruce a betrayed look when he had excused himself to continue working downstairs, but he was waiting for Zatara and Dr. Fate to get back to him and wanted to be close when they arrived.

Unsure of what information they would bring with them, he had agreed to allow Jason to wear Dick's old Robin costume and be present for it. He hadn't wanted Dickie to be in the Batcave for any longer than necessary and Jason could take the boy back up to the manor when they were finished. After Flash's visit, he had no doubt that knowledge of Jason had spread throughout the League, even if the teen's identity itself remained secret.

"I can't believe you're letting me wear this!" Jason exclaimed excitedly. He was stroking his hands down the red vest with an awestruck expression.

"Don't get used to it," Bruce reminded him as he tugged his cowl into place. "You still have to earn the right to wear those colors outside of the Batcave. That you are wearing them now is only because I need you to keep an eye on Dick for me and remove him when his presence is no longer required."

 _Trust Bruce to put a damper on the boy's excitement_ , Superman thought. He floated above the floor now that he was in the cave and not the house while he kept Dickie entertained. The boy squealed with joy as Clark tossed him as high in the air as the cavern allowed. Whatever bats remained in the area squeaked at being disturbed, several flying from their perches back into the cave's depths to avoid the activity.

Batman shot him a look of annoyance. "Try not to throw him into one of the stalactites, would you?"

Clark looked hurt. "I wouldn't! I can see every one of them, even if I can no longer see into the manor."

"Are you still pouting over that?" Batman quipped as he moved to the lab area to check on the DNA sequencer.

The machine continued to run but was emitting a noise that indicated distress. A human strand of DNA would have finished up hours ago. The Gray Woman's blood was of far greater complexity, however.

Superman ignored Dick's chants of "More! More! Again! Again!" as he followed Batman into the lab.

"What is that?" he asked, peering curiously over Batman's shoulder.

"It is a blood sample that I believe belongs to the Gray Woman herself. It was found at the center of Dead Zone in Bludhaven at the Museum of Natural History, the place I have reason to believe is where she was released." He blew out a breath in frustration. "It is incredibly complex, however. The DNA sequencer is having trouble mapping it."

"At least she bleeds. That would suggest she has a weakness. Would you mind if _**I**_ take a look at it?" Superman asked.

"Knock yourself out," Batman mumbled as he looked at another sample through the microscope. He pointed to the counter. "There are several samples over there."

Superman frowned. "These with the black smudge across them?"

"That would be them." Batman assured him.

Settling Dickie on his shoulders, Superman used his microscopic vision to gaze at the strange fluid, holding it so that the overhead lighting was behind it. He didn't need this aspect of his vision often. It was the least used, in fact, but it was helpful now. He whistled low.

"Did you find something?"

"I sure did . . ." Superman said as he turned the delicate glass slide at a different angle. He didn't test Bruce's patience but told him immediately of what he found. Clark had never seen anything like it. "There is a triple, no, a _quadruple_ helix here! It is difficult to see its structure as it is still retaining the supercoiling that makes up its chromosomes. But I'm counting at least ninety-six chromosomes here." He frowned as he looked closer. "This can't be right! Each helix appears to have sixteen different bases."

"That's impossible!" Batman frowned. "The most complex DNA we've ever found among the thousands of alien samples we've stored in the Watchtower have eight, and even that is extremely rare. Nearly all life in the known universe consists of a mere four bases, even those of silicone-based lifeforms."

"I'm just telling you what I see. It might explain why your machine is having such trouble mapping it."

Batman grunted as he checked the progress of the sequencing. The machine was barely a fraction of the way through. The noise it made indicated it would fail long before it revealed the results.

Superman set the sample back on the counter carefully. Kryptonians had six base pairs in their DNA which meant that the chances that he would be able to have children with a human were infinitesimal, if not impossible. It bothered Clark to think he was quite literally the last of his kind without scientific intervention, and Luthor had managed to ruin that route as a consideration. But _this_ . . .

Whatever being this blood belonged to was obviously more . . . advanced, and alien, than anything they had ever encountered before. Although they didn't have samples of DNA from every race they'd encountered, Superman wondered how anything could possibly compare. It was mind-boggling and, for him, that was saying a lot.

"You need to lock these samples away, Bruce," he told him.

"He not Bwoose," Dick instructed Clark. "He Batman!"

Clark smiled and pulled Dick back into his arms, tickling the boy. "Is he now?"

Dickie laughed. "He Batman when he wear COW!" he yelped.

Superman laughed with him. "Is _that_ what that thing is called he wears on his head? A cow?"

"Very funny," Batman grunted. "Please, don't confuse him more than he is, Superman."

Superman set Dickie on the floor. "I meant what I said, Batman. That DNA is dangerous. Imagine what might happen if Luthor discovered it? If he created Doomsday with the six-base pairs of Kryptonian DNA, what kind of monster might he design with even a drop of this blood?"

Dickie stared up at the two heroes with wide-eyes. "M-Monter? What a monter?"

"Way to go, Superman," Batman grumbled, picking the toddler up before he could wander off. "It's okay, chum. I won't let any monster get you."

He walked to the doorway and called Jason to watch over the boy for them. When they were alone, Batman turned around to face the alien.

Superman's frown deepened. "Why didn't you tell him that monsters don't exist?"

"Because they _do_ , Clark. He's already met one. All I can do now is reassure him that I'll protect him."

"Can you?" Clark asked. "From what I've seen and what you've told me, I have to wonder if _any_ of us have that ability. Ninety-six chromosomes! I would never have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. What sort of being _is_ this Gray Woman?"

"I've told you all that I know," Bruce muttered. "I can only hope that we can get some answers when Fate and Zatara return."

"And when is that supposed to happen?"

The zeta-beam activated at that moment. Its hum could be heard in the lab.

"Right now," Bruce said. "Coming?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it," Clark told him, following the Caped Crusader back into the main chamber.

* * *

Zatara reappeared inside the Batcave a moment later. He appeared less surprised by Superman's presence than he did at the boy wearing the Robin costume. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the toddler Batman had introduced as his de-aged partner. If the child had not returned to his previous age and form, who was this new boy wearing the Teen Wonder's colors?

"What news, Zatara?" Batman asked immediately, cutting straight to the chase.

Zatara nodded to the Man of Steel as he answered. "Hopefully, the answers that we seek," he told them. "I had heard the legend I spoke of long ago from the British warlock, John Constantine. I met with him and he's . . . agreed to search out the person who had told him. She is one of the long-lived Fae and had met the person who is the originator of the legend's tale."

"Fae? What's that?" Jason asked as he held onto Dickie's hand. The toddler was eager to greet the visitor after his last experience with the magician's special pocket.

Zatara hesitated only a second. "The Fae are a race of magical creatures some have dubbed faeries. You are . . . Robin?"

"Fairy?" Dickie asked excitedly, bouncing on his toes. "I wanna see fairy!"

"Fae," Zatara corrected absentmindedly.

Batman answered for the new Robin. "He will be . . . eventually. I needed his assistance today and he needed to protect his identity."

"Ah," Zatara nodded. Now was not the time to question the wisdom of taking on another young boy when the first had met with an unlikely fate. "Even though both Dr. Fate and I are aware of your identity?"

"Fate went as well to meet with someone. I don't know if he will return to the Batcave with this person," Batman explained. Even with colleagues he trusted with his identity, Bruce preferred to allow Batman deal with them. "But none of this has anything to do with the boy's identity."

"I see." Zatara smiled at the young teen as he wrestled to keep his predecessor contained. "Robin, it is then."

The masked boy nodded in return, somewhat distracted. "Likewise, I'm sure."

"Magic pocket," Dickie exclaimed.

"I don't know what that means," Jason complained.

Zatara knelt in front of the toddler and took a moment to admire the child's shirt. "'Got Patience?'" he chuckled, tousling the boy's messy hair. That it looked neater afterwards made him smile. "Yes, I imagine you are something of a handful."

He held out his gloved hand, showing both boys the coin that lay in the center of his palm. Dick and Jason glanced down at it and Zatara closed his fingers over it before Dickie could reach out and snag it. He immediately opened up his hand again to show that the coin had disappeared. Dickie blinked and frowned.

"Where it go?" he asked.

"Patience," Zatara told him, smiling. " _Nioc raeppaer_ ," he said as he reached up and took the coin from Dickie's ear. The child gasped appropriately as Zatara handed the coin to him with the warning, "You are not to eat this one either."

Jason snorted. "I've seen that trick."

Zatara smiled up at the older boy. "And have you seen this one? _Nioc raeppa ni s'niboR thuom_."

Jason's eyes widened as, a second later, he spit a matching coin from out of his mouth. He stared at the magician. "How'd you do that?"

"No eat that, J-"

Jason cut Dick off with a hand before he could blurt out his name. "You call me Robin, remember?"

Dick frowned at him. "Top that," he complained, pulling Jason's hand away from his mouth.

"You mean 'sssstop that', shrimp," Jay instructed.

"SSSSTOP THAT!" Dick yelled angrily at the top of his lungs. The bats nearby squeaked and flapped at the noise.

"Dickie, enough," Batman sighed. "Get along or I'll send you both upstairs."

Jason didn't bother complaining when he knew that Batman meant every word but Dick pouted and kicked the teen in the ankle.

"Ow! Hey!" he yelped, hopping back out of range.

Superman swooped up the offended toddler and tossed him in the air, causing Dickie's mood to change instantly to laughter.

Jason scowled. "That's right! Reward the little snot for acting out."

Clark gave the teen a shrug. "It was an attempt to distract him before he threw a temper tantrum. It wasn't actually meant as a reward."

Jason crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, _he_ doesn't know that."

"Hm, you have a point, but I was under the assumption that you _wanted_ to remain down here in costume. Was I wrong?" Clark pointed out reasonably.

"No." The teen blew out an annoyed breath. "Okay, I get it." Jason lifted himself up onto the table's edge and swung his legs back and forth. "Shutting up now."

Batman pulled Dick from Superman's arms. "You will behave or I'll ask Alfred to take you upstairs for a nap."

"No wanna nap," Dick said, sticking his bottom lip out.

"Then behave yourself," Batman told him.

"I bored," he pouted.

"Hm. . . ." Batman grunted. "Hello, Bored. I'm Batman," Bruce allowed himself a tiny smirk for the child's sake.

Dickie blinked at him for a moment and then giggled. "I no bored. I Dickie!"

 _Tantrum averted_ , Batman nodded, satisfied. And, just in time as a light flashed on one side of the cavern, this one not attached to the use of the zeta-beam. The light faded as Dr. Fate and another guest stepped forward.

"I bring to you Jason Blood," Fate announced.

"That no Jason . . ." Dickie began but didn't finish the thought when Batman shushed him quietly.

"Not now, Dickie," he reminded the child. Batman handed the boy off to Jason as he moved to intercept his colleague and learn exactly who this Jason Blood was and why Fate chose to bring him to the Batcave.

Zatara stepped up. "Jason," he greeted the other man. "It is good of you to help," he said to ease tensions. "I might have come to you myself with this." He looked between Blood and Batman. "Have you two met each other?"

"By reputation only," Blood murmured.

"Jason Blood, is it? I've heard . . . rumors about you," Batman said.

Fate interrupted. "The time has come to deal in facts."

Blood didn't appear any happier to be in the Batcave as Batman was to have him there but he must have something important for Fate to have brought him rather than gather the information himself.

"Fate said you had questions you needed answered in order to save the world." The newcomer looked at him skeptically. "Be aware of the danger that retrieving those answers may bring."

"Is that a threat?" Batman narrowed his eyes. He was suddenly glad he asked Superman to stick around, but he might need to rethink the importance of the boys' presence.

"I will tell you as I told Fate," Blood replied. "I am here under protest. To release the demon is to risk lives. I cannot guarantee your safety during this interrogation."

"Demon?" Batman turned to Fate, scowling. "You wish to bring the demon here?"

"The denizens of hell may have information that we seek. Short of traveling there personally, we have the option of learning what we seek in this realm with Jason Blood's cooperation," Fate intoned.

Zatara lifted an eyebrow. "It _would_ be more comfortable this way, to be sure."

"Do not jest over such matters," Blood snapped.

"Do not doubt your ability to contain the demon. You have not lost control yet," Fate told Blood, "and with Zatara and myself present and the strength of Superman, the risk is minimal."

Batman turned to Zatara. "The children . . .?"

"Should remain," Fate interrupted. "The demon might have knowledge of the mark the child wears and what part he plays in this."

Batman stepped closer, nostrils flaring. "And what of the dangers of exposing him to a demon!"

"There is far more at stake than the fate of one child, even one who resides in your heart," Fate reminded him.

"There has to be another way. Robin!" Batman barked, "Have Agent A take you and Dick to the park for a few hours."

Jason sighed, but got up without protest, despite his only wearing the Robin costume a short while. _Dealing with muggers and other street scum was one thing_ , he glanced back at the new guy with his white streak and imperious attitude . . . _demons_ , he decided, _are another thing altogether_.

"Come on, Dickie," Jay said, tugging on the child's hand.

"I no wanna go," Dick complained. "Wanna see demon."

"No, you don't," Jason said. He pulled Dick along with him towards the steps leading to the manor.

"Halt," Fate ordered. "I will take responsibility for the children's safety."

Jason bristled at being lumped in with a toddler, but he stopped and looked at Batman for direction. "Well? Staying or going?"

"If any harm comes to either of them . . ." Batman growled his warning.

"It will not," Fate stated flatly.

"You can't know that," Batman told him.

"But I do," Fate reassured him with a wave of his hand.

Zatara brought everyone's attention back to the point. "Then, shall we begin?" He looked at Blood. "Jason?"

"It is on you," Blood muttered ominously, but he closed his eyes and spoke the words that would draw the demon forth.

" _Change! Change! O' form of man!_

 _Free the prince forever damned!_

 _Free the might from fleshy mire!_

 _Boil the blood in the heart for fire!_

 _Gone! Gone! O' form of man_

 _Rise the demon, Etrigan_!"

Immediately, Blood's skin and hair began to smoke and bubble before the man burst into flame.

Superman, closest to the boys, blocked them from the sudden heat by wrapping them in his cape and shielding them with his body. Batman threw up his flame-retardant cape to protect himself even as Zatara raised his hands.

" _Dliehs su morf nomed erif_ ," the magician recited and the air around the cave's occupants cooled, returning to normal in response to the spell.

When they could look, Jason Blood was gone and in his place stood a tall creature with yellow skin and fangs. He had two horns and dark-red, glowing eyes. He was dressed in red and leather with chain links covering his arms and legs, and armor incorporated into his clothing in vital places; his cape was black and shredded as if the fire had burned away the edges . . . The material still smoked.

The boys coughed and gagged at the stench of sulphur and brimstone that accompanied the demon from the depths of hell. Superman used his breath to blow the odor towards the cave entrance but the unpleasant smell remained.

"The stench emanates from the demon," Zatara explained.

"Wonderful," Jason grumbled as he pushed Superman's cape from his shoulders.

Dick blinked large, blue eyes as he, too, emerged from the capes confines. "What wunnerful? Whew! It stinky in here," the child complained dramatically, waving a chubby hand in the air.

"Sh," Clark shushed them. "Don't call any more attention to yourselves unless it is asked of you."

"Why . . .? Oh!" Jason gaped at the demon standing in the center of the cave. He grabbed Dickie's hand and tugged the younger boy closer to him.

"What? What is it?" Dick strained his neck to see around Superman.

"Quiet." Jason held up a finger in front of his own mouth rather than risk another temper tantrum. To his surprise, this worked and Dick hunkered down beside him.

Etrigan appeared before them hunched over as if in pain, but when he straightened to his full height, he looked more annoyed than injured. He glanced at those surrounding him with contempt. His red eyes narrowed at the sight of Fate and Zatara.

"What trick is this, magician, lord? Why call you Etrigan from hell's fire? Answer me quickly. Tell me your desire."

"We need your knowledge of a legend, demon-lord," Dr. Fate explained.

"You call Etrigan from hell, my secrets to know. Why should I tell you anything? Your minds are far too slow." the demon growled low.

"The fate of the world might reside with what you can tell us," Fate continued.

For a long moment, the demon considered the lord of order. Batman prepared to confront the hellspawn when Etrigan finally answered. "What knowledge do you seek? Ask your questions; Etrigan will speak."

Batman turned and grabbed the iron box from the table. He held it out and touched one of the symbols that had been repeatedly etched on all six sides of the box.

"What do you know of the legend attached to this symbol?"

Etrigan began to reach for the metal box only to recoil with a hiss. "Iron! What trick is this?" he snarled, not bothering with his rhyme in his fury.

"We meant no harm. I didn't know." Batman set the box away from him and picked up a paper with the symbol drawn upon it. He held this up instead. "My question stands. I need to know what you know about the legend surrounding this symbol."

Wary now, the demon leaned forward and stared hard at the drawing before pulling back in alarm. "The End of All you should forget, lest the goddess of death beset upon you all a curse most dread, and feed you to her host of undead."

"Morrigan? Is this the goddess of whom you speak?" Batman latched onto the word.

"Morrigan ran, as did the Fae," Etrigan snarled. "To save their skins for another day."

"The 'End of All'?" Batman looked over at Zatara. "That is sounds awfully similar to the 'End of Everything'."

"Coincidence?" Superman asked, raising his own skeptical eyebrow.

Batman snorted. "Hardly. It has to be connected." He looked back at the demon. "What do you know of 'The End of All'?"

"There will come a battle most intense but, against her, you'll find there's no defense." Etrigan told them. "The future is not secure as our destruction has been assured."

"Not exactly a happy fellow, is he?" Superman commented.

"She is The Destroyer," Etrigan told them. "Hearken, Man of Steele, you would be wise to heed my words and not trivialize. Spend this time to make your peace, for our worlds are about to cease."

"We've been told that before and here we stand," Batman reminded the demon. "Don't write us off yet."

The demon snorted. "None can stop the coming tide. Her power will be amplified."

"Stop it, Jay!" A childish voice interrupted the conversation. "I want to see." Dickie ran out from behind Superman after twisting free of Jason's grip. Batman grabbed him and pulled him into his side, wrapping his cape protectively around the boy.

"Sorry, Batman. I'll take him upstairs," Jason muttered, reaching for the younger boy but Dickie slid around behind, keeping Batman and his cape between them.

Dickie peeked out from the opposite side, gaping at the powerful demon from the safety of Batman's presence. "You talk funny," he told the hellspawn with a smile. "I like it."

"What does the child know of the presence of our common foe?" Etrigan asked curiously, making the child in question giggle.

Batman held a hand out towards Jason. "Wait," he ordered.

He looked back at the demon, cautiously allowing Dick to step in front of him. He held onto Dickie's shoulder to prevent the boy's curiosity from getting the better of him again. He slid the child's bangs up with his other hand, exposing the black mark left by the Gray Woman.

"What do you know about this mark?" he asked the demon.

Etrigan frowned, causing Dick to press himself back against Batman's legs. Jason moved back, allowing Batman's cape to partially shield him as well, in case the demon was about to grow angry . . . or angrier.

"I smell the stench of a god on him," Etrigan murmured. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the mark.

Jason coughed lightly, covering his mouth and nose with a gloved hand. "How can he smell anything over his own stench?" he asked under his breath.

Etrigan ignored the remark. "For the child to bear her mark, from her norm she must depart."

Jason stepped up to stand beside his mentor. "You know, this rhyming cra . . . um, stuff," he said, throwing a nervous glance up at Batman as he caught his language just in time, "is really starting to get annoying. Is it really necessary?"

"I could aim to please," the demon smirked, "but, why should I?"

"Hah! I _knew_ it! You don't have to rhyme when you speak," Jason crowed. Batman laid a calming hand lightly to remind the boy to respect a powerful opponent when he was being civil and cooperating with them.

"There is honor in speaking rhyme. In hell, not all are permitted most of the time," Etrigan said with satisfaction.

Jason groaned as Dick smiled, the toddler happy again now that the demon returned to rhyming. He enjoyed it, but the creature wasn't done either with him or the rhymes.

"Could the child be a spy," he asked suspiciously, "through which the goddess keeps an eye?"

Batman pulled his cape to cover the boy, ignoring Dickie's protests. "The child is a victim here," he informed the demon. "He is under my protection."

But the demon was contemplating this new information. "Undone by the likes of a child. Is it possible the goddess is beguiled?"

"The boy is indeed important," Fate nodded. "How so, has not yet been determined."

"There is not a child mentioned in the stories that are told, but to be alive with her mark reveals that secrets have yet to unfold," Etrigan agreed. "The child should remain protected until we discover what horrors have been enacted."

Jason winced. "That one was a bit of a stretch," he murmured.

"It will do," the demon returned before his nostrils twitched. "Something comes," he warned, not bothering with a rhyme.

Batman tightened his grip on Dick even as his other hand slid surreptitiously to his utility belt and his weapons. "Robin," he said to Jay, "Be prepared. Take Dick to Superman or Fate should this be the Gray Woman returning."

They all watched warily as the darkness seemed to come alive in front of them and a figure stepped out.

* * *

John Constantine stepped out of the swirling shadows and into the Batcave. No one relaxed at seeing it was him. That the group waiting on him contained a demon didn't appear to faze him in the least.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. So," he said, clapping his hands together loudly, "let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

"Could you not find your Fae friend?" Zatara asked.

"Oh ho, 'did I find her?' he asks. I did you one better, friend, I brought her with me," Constantine snorted. He paused, waving a hand at the others in warning. "You might want to step back. She's not in an especially good mood."

No one bothered stepping back, although Batman handed Dickie to Jason and pushed them behind him.

"We're waiting," he barked.

Constantine opened his overcoat and immediately a tiny ball of light escaped into the cave, flying about in an erratic and furious manner. The light expanded until a small woman could be seen in the midst of it. She was all of four inches in height and had hair the color of fresh, spring grass. She hovered in front of John's face, hands on her hips as her silvery, dragonfly-shaped wings beat the air, making a buzzing noise.

"How dare you!" she yelled at the man with a surprisingly loud voice. "You fae-napped me! Don't think your magic can save you from my wrath, human!"

"Well, that isn't exactly true, Saileach. I'm actually a member of the homo-magi. We are different . . ." John attempted to instruct her but she was having none of it.

"Homo-magi, homo-sapien, it makes no difference to me! You _all_ look alike," she buzzed angrily about his head.

" _Tinkerbell_!" Dick squealed, holding out his hands. "Lookit! See?"

Jason held him a bit closer. "Yeah, a really mean and angry Tinkerbell, you mean. I don't think you'd want to play with _her_ , Dickie."

"I wanna fly like Tinkerbell!" Dickie demanded cheerfully. "Fairies _fly_!"

Saileach turned her head, frowning. She flew towards the child-like voices. "Who said that? Who is this Tinkerbell? I know of no one with that name."

Batman stepped more fully in front of the children. "They meant no insult. They are just children."

Saileach hovered in place. "Children?" Her purple and gold eyes seemed to sparkle with sudden interest. "May I meet these children?"

Constantine stepped over and caught Saileach in his hands. "No," he told her. "You may _not_ play with the children."

Saileach burst from his hands leaving John waving them about as if they were burned. "You cannot tell me what to do!"

"He brought you here for what you can tell us, actually," Batman informed her.

The tiny Fae creature flew back in his direction. "And if I tell you what you wish to know, then can I play with your children?" she asked shrewdly.

"Say, no," Constantine warned.

Batman narrowed his eyes. "I don't think that would be a good idea. If you could just answer a few questions, you can be on your way. I'm certain John would return you to your home."

Zatara stood off to one side, between Fate and Etrigan, with a confused look on his face. "I thought you said you and she had a . . ." He paused, glancing at the boys where they hid behind Batman's cape. "Didn't you say you two were . . . ahem, _friends_ at one time?"

Superman curled his lip. "I don't think I want to know how that worked. Do not answer that question."

Saileach buzzed in front of Batman's face. "What are you supposed to be?"

Constantine stepped closer. "His name is Batman," he told her with a smirk.

She blinked and flew back several feet. "Bat?"

"You are in the Batcave," John said with a bit of flair. "He's got lots of hungry, little friends hanging around in the shadows."

She swung around and glared at him. "And you brought me here why? So that his bats can eat me?"

"Bats no eat Tinkerbell," Dickie blurted as he squirmed to get down from Jason's arms. He wanted to see the fairy again.

Although Saileach glanced again in the child's direction, she remained where she was. "I will get you for this, John Constantine."

With a flash of light, the tiny Fae woman disappeared from view and an ethereal, otherworldly-appearing woman materialized in her place. She stood easily taller than Batman's own 6'2" while in this form and was disturbingly slender for her height. Her features could be seen plainly now. She had too-large eyes and slanted eyebrows the same green color of her flowing hair. Her nose was long and slender and her mouth was quite wide; her skin was a pale translucence, shimmering, with her movements, with a kaleidoscope of color like a prism.

"Ah, now that would explain a lot," Clark quipped lightly.

"Your bats will not be eating me this day," she announced with superiority.

"Tinkerbell grow BIG!" Dickie squealed, raising his arms up in the air.

Jason slapped a hand over the boy's mouth and slipped back behind Batman's cape. "Sorry," he muttered in response to the glare he received.

Saileach was staring at the spot they had been standing in. The sparkle in her vivid, violet and golden eyes took on a distinctly predatory glint. She ignored Constantine as she moved back to face the Batman, her walk was seductive but also exuded the air of a feline on the hunt. When she stood in front of him, looking down her too-long nose, her eyes only flitted over his shoulder once. Batman was no fool, however. He held out his cape to further block her line of sight.

She sighed, pouting a little for effect.

"I have questions," he growled at her.

"I might have answers . . ." she smirked, "for a fee."

"Willow . . ." John said, warningly.

She glared at him and turned back Batman, blinking her large, shrewd eyes in an innocent manner. "It is just a tiny fee. Hardly anything at all."

"No fee for you, Saileach," Constantine snapped.

She huffed, crossing her arms and becoming obstinate. "No fee; no answers."

"Now, listen here . . ." John began.

"What is your fee?" Batman interrupted.

"Batman," Zatara inserted himself here. "This might not be wise."

"You cannot trust the Fae," Etrigan sneered, "A word of truth they will not say."

Saileach sneered back. "As if anyone is stupid enough to trust a demon."

"It's a bad bargain, mate," Constantine told him. "Never bargain with the Fae. You'll always get the shaft."

"You should complain?" the Fae woman asked, whipping back around to face her ex-lover. "You who used me to steal faery magic?"

"It was only a small bit," Constantine rolled his eyes. "I doubt anyone even missed it."

"Mine is but a _small_ fee," she countered.

"Enough," Batman barked. He narrowed his eyes at her. "What is this fee of yours?"

Saileach smiled sweetly, a closed-lipped smile that emphasized her wide mouth once again. "Tis but a tiny thing," she told him, mimicking Constantine's words. "Hardly missed."

When Batman only stared at her, she shrugged one shoulder. "A wee drop of blood."

"Define a _wee_ drop," he growled.

"Like a pinprick from the tip of a finger," she told him.

"And if I agree, you'll answer the questions thoroughly, without misleading or withholding anything related to or important to the topic?"

"You have my faery word," she promised, crossing her heart with one pale finger.

Etrigan snorted derisively.

"The Fae's word isn't worth a bloody tuppence," John blurted. "Tell him exactly whose finger you're talking about, you, sneaky hob!"

She hissed at the man suddenly, and although she seemed to come to herself immediately, the expression had exposed a mouthful of extremely large, sharp teeth.

"Answer his question," Batman snapped.

She heaved a dramatic sigh. "The child's," she finally admitted. "But t'wouldn't hurt him a'tall," she swore. "Tis but a tiny nip."

Batman stepped into her space until they were practically nose-to-nose. "Why are you so interested in the child?"

"They are sweeter, but fine," she sighed, retreated from her initial demand. "It doesn't have to be wee one. The older boy's blood would do as well."

Constantine grabbed her arm. His hand was large and coarse next to her delicate-looking skin but he knew the Fae were far sturdier than they appeared. She could stand a little manhandling and, in fact, was just as capable of dishing it out as she was of taking it. The average Fae had the strength thrice that of a normal human male.

"You will behave yourself, faery wench, or I'll give you back a bit of that Fae magic you claim I stole from you," he warned her.

"We aren't faeries, _sorcerer_ ," she snarled at him. "We are the Fae! Immortals when compared to your small and insignificant lives."

"Immortals you are not called when face-to-face with the End of All," the demon murmured.

Saileach turned and walked toward the demon. "What do _you_ know of the End of All?"

Etrigan smiled a terrible smile. "She returns."

"Blimey! You mean that druid chick was telling the truth?" Saileach yelped. She glared at Constantine. "You might have warned me!"

"For what purpose?" he asked. "Would you have come willingly, then?"

"Of course not!" she screeched. "I would have warned the Queen to close the breach. According to Rhiannon, the gray goddess only destroys one universe at a time. The Fae would be safe elsewhere."

Batman and the others frowned. "The Universe? Not the World?"

Saileach pursed her lips. "It would appear that all humans are as arrogant as you," she said to Constantine. "The End of All is well known to the Fae. We've escaped her destruction several times before by crossing dimensions. Apparently, that was the original reason for our retreat when she first entered this universe but when it was discovered that you still existed, a few wee breaches were erected. We did not return completely. Queen Mab is wary of the rumors."

"Blood was shed; the war achieved, through trickery and lies, a small reprieve," Etrigan rumbled.

"Rhiannon is the one you told me about?" Constantine asked. "The source of the legend you told me about?"

"I thought she was lying," Saileach shrugged. "No one defeats the gray goddess. The legend of the End of All, however, pre-existed the birth of a simple druid priestess. There! I told you what you wanted to know. Now let me go ere I get caught in the goddess' wrath." She smirked at John. "Keep the magic . . . Not that it will do you any good."

"You aren't leaving yet. How did the druids manage to capture the gray goddess before?" Batman asked.

Dick slapped his hands over his ears once more. "Stop it! She hear you! She come back!"

The Fae's eyes widened even larger in response and the play of color in her skin paled to a pearly white. "She was _here_?" she screeched. "How is it you still stand?" She asked, grasping Constantine's coat. "Return me at once! I will not be destroyed with you."

"Easy, Willow," Constantine attempted to pry her elongated fingers from his lapels. The extra joint made the task difficult. "I'll return you as soon as you answer his question. How did this Rhiannon defeat her? She must have told you."

"I don't _know_!" Saileach wailed. "And stop calling me Willow!"

"I don't believe you," he snapped.

"Then ask her yourself! I've told you all I know," the Fae snapped back.

"The priestess must have died eons ago," Zatara said.

Saileach rolled her eyes. "She lives. Twas why Morrigan got permission from Mab for her to enter Faery. She was given the power to leave and enter Faery at will to stop anyone who found and attempted to open the box. If the gray one is free, then she obviously failed her task. It is _she_ you should be searching for! Rhiannon claimed she was there during the final battle."

"Where can we find her?" Batman growled, stepping forward. The Fae seemed no longer snide, but then, her fear was not of him.

"I don't know," Saileach insisted. "I don't! She has on occasion left Faery land but always returned once her duty fulfilled in order to retain her youth. If the box was opened, then tis likely that she is looking for you."

"Perhaps if we can learn what Morrigan and the priests did, we can return the Gray Goddess to the box?" Zatara suggested.

"Do you really believe one trick works twice? Do not be foolish. The box is imprecise," the demon told them.

"We cannot know that for certain," Superman insisted.

"A battle is coming, mark my word," Etrigan said, shaking his head. "All is lost; the End assured."

"The demon is correct," Saileach whined. "Your universe is doomed. Tis what she does. Tis _all_ she does!"

"Not without a fight," Superman assured them. "And if she was defeated before, we know it's possible."

"Another way must now be found to ensure the goddess becomes ironbound. If we could close the lid on her plans, we could stop the destruction and spare our lands," Etrigan growled. He looked at Dickie. "The boy is a bridge to she; use _him_ in order to make us free."

Zatara made a face of disgust. "You would endanger a child?"

"Of course," Etrigan said without shame. "Through this mark, he's goddess-owned. The End of All _may_ be postponed. The gray one's fascination could yet become our salvation."

Batman stepped towards the demon, one hand retrieving several exploding batarangs. He didn't like where the hellspawn was going with his summations. Superman, too, moved to place himself in front of the boys.

" _No one_ will be using children to bargain with a goddess set on destroying our universe," Clark stated. "There must be another way. Through this priestess, the faery spoke of, perhaps?"

Etrigan sneered at Superman. "For such a big, strong, strapping fellow, your spine is weak and its color, yellow."

"Enough of this," Batman barked. "We need to find this priestess and learn what we can. We _will_ stop her," he promised, "but _without_ harming the child."

Etrigan rolled his eyes at their weakness. "The Fae, my story, did confirm. What else is needed for you to learn?" He waved a clawed hand in their direction as he spoke.

" _Gone now, O, Etrigan_

 _And rise again_ _the form of man!"_

Immediately, a hellish fire burst into being, consuming the demon's form. Zatara repeated his earlier spell, raising a shield to protect them and lower the cave's temperature. As quickly as it appeared the fire was extinguished and only the smoke, rank with the odorous stench of sulphur and brimstone, remained. Jason Blood stepped through the pitch-black gas, looking none the worse for his transformation, even as the Batcave's ventilation system worked hard to remove the heavy smoke.

Blood looked around at everyone who stared at him with an air of resignation. "So, what did I miss? Something big from the looks of it."

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **For your edification, the transformation of Jason Blood into Etrigan and back I made a bit more dramatic that it appears in the comics. This just seemed more befitting for the entrance and exit of a demon and translates better into the written word.**

 **Next, John Constantine is not a member of the homo-magi. He is a normal human who has learned to command magic. The terms used "warlock and sorcerer" would apply to him. Zatara and Zatanna both, however, are homo-magi according to my research.**

* * *

 **I used the characterization of members of the Fae and the bit of lore I added from both Celtic mythology and modern interpretations. Saileach's name is actually "Saileach Reatha" which is Gaelic and roughly means "Creeping Willow" which I thought sounded only slightly disturbing. She came very close to being "Iteoir Feola" which stands for "Meat Eater" . . . Despite choosing Willow for her name, I can assure you that Saileach is a carnivore and likes the taste of blood and, had Batman been beguiled by her, would have (in her wee form) taken a bit of meat with her wee sip from the tip of Dickie's finger. Luckily, our Dark Knight doesn't trust so easily.**

 **Another bit of background I created for Saileach that didn't make it into the story is that a taste of blood would have allowed Saileach to have tracked the boy later . . . if she wanted to have "seconds". The bite, although could be extremely painful, can also feel extremely pleasant should the faery choose to be kind to her meal. That might be to her favor should she want more than one nibble, her victim being more than willing to let her munch away on his flesh. ;D Creepy, huh?**

 **I did come close to naming Saileach's character "Scidil", a Gaelic word that sounds very close to "Skittles" which I kind of thought was hilarious. She wouldn't have liked being linked with the candies, I'm sure, however. ;D**

* * *

 ****Okay, if you hadn't figured it out, it was Etrigan's rhymes that gave me such a headache (literally). The biology isn't a problem for me. But finding a word that makes sense to what he was supposed to say that would ALSO rhyme is a lot harder than it looks. The internet was not as helpful as I had hoped but luckily I was able to find my copy of my rhyming dictionary (yes, they make those! Very helpful when writing poetry and songs or dialogue for demons who like to speak in rhyme.)**

 **Anyway, I struggled with this for a week, when suddenly a couple of days ago, the rhymes started coming to me easily . . . Too easily. All of a sudden, I would turn off the light to sleep and a dozen perfect rhymes would pop into my head, necessitating my turning my light back on and scribbling them down like mad before they slipped away. It became a little annoying after a while, however. ;D****


	17. Party At My Crib

**Warning: Some Language . . .**

* * *

The buzz of the intercom drew Bruce's attention from the rest of the translations that Jason Blood had attempted to help him understand. A war unlike any he had ever heard tell of before, even those famous battles in mythology . . . He was frowning when he answered Alfred's call.

"What is it, Alfred?" Bruce didn't bother hiding his annoyance that came partly from being interrupted again and partly from his frustration that the translations were still proceeding so slowly.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I called to inform you that your guests have arrived." Alfred's voice came through somewhat tinny over the intercom.

"Guests? What guests?"

His mind remained on his research. Blood had said that this symbol meant 'feast', which was disturbing when in the midst of a violent attack, to say the least. The question was whether the 'feasting' was being done by the birds or by the army of 'dead/not dead' that Jason swore had meant zombies.

"The guests for your toddler shower, sir," Alfred informed him.

Bruce blinked, turning back toward the intercom. Surely, he hadn't heard his butler correctly. "A what? A toddler . . .?"

"Shower," Alfred answered him. "At three, Master Dick is technically too old to be referred to as a 'baby' . . ."

"A baby shower . . . for Dick?"

"I understand that this is hard for you," Alfred remarked dryly, "but the correct term would be a toddler shower. Then there is the fact that Master Dick has begun taking offense to the term 'baby' recently after an incident earlier this morning with Mast- . . ."

"Jason," Bruce finished for him. "I can just imagine. Should I have a talk with either of them?" Although, any hopes of Dick taking much away from it were slim.

"I took care of it, although, it might become an issue again should the young sir attempt to play with any more of Jason's big boy toys as Master Dick calls them," Alfred assured him. "Now, about your guests? When shall I inform them to expect you?"

"I still have no idea what you are talking about. I know nothing about a baby . . ."

"Toddler, sir."

". . . toddler shower," Bruce corrected smoothly. "Whose idea was this, anyway? Dick's presence was supposed to be kept under wraps until we can figure out a way to return him to his true age."

"I'm afraid it was _you_ who let the bat out of the bag, so to speak," Alfred replied.

Bruce clapped one hand over his eyes. "No," he groaned.

"Oh, yes indeed, sir."

"I don't have the time to spare for trivial matters, Alfred." Bruce complained.

"Surely, a few minutes of your time wouldn't doom us all."

"This isn't a joking matter," Bruce reminded him.

"So, then, I can assume by your abject refusal that you don't care if Master Clark introduces the boys to the other members of the Justice League that are here?" Alfred asked. Snidely, in Bruce's opinion.

"What? Clark? No, absolutely not!" Bruce snapped and then sighed. He set his notes on the table. "I'll be right up. Where are they now?"

"The boys are currently in Master Jason's bedroom."

"No, I meant . . ."

"Ah," Alfred caught on immediately. "They are in the south living room. You should have a straight, uninterrupted path upstairs from your study, sir."

"Thank you, Alfred. I'm on my way."

And he was. At least he didn't have to take time out to change. He was down here in civilian clothes. He didn't think to ask if the Leaguers present were here themselves in their civilian garb or not.

"They had better not," he grumbled to himself, and he hoped to high heaven Clark didn't bring anyone who wasn't already aware of his identity. There were still several who weren't in the loop and Bruce meant for them to stay that way.

He opened the clock and stood to listen. The house was built of sound-absorbing material for the most part. The hall, kitchen, and foyer all had marble tile but the walls were insulated and there were tapestries as well as artwork that helped prevent conversations from carrying or footsteps from echoing. He could hear nothing. He suspected that, except for Clark, the others couldn't hear him entering the manor from below.

He moved with purpose to the stairs that led to the family's wing, where his, Dick's, and Jason's bedrooms were located. As he climbed the stairs, he murmured softly, knowing that the Kryptonian in the living room could hear him.

"I'm going to strangle you for this, Clark. What the hell do you think you are doing?"

He certain wasn't waiting for an answer. Right now, he didn't care what Clark had to say, despite his question. He needed to check on the boys.

They had spent most of the day in Jason's room after last night's revelations. Alfred had expressed some concern, but Bruce thought that Jason, and maybe Dick as well, were simply trying to process all this information. The Gray Woman . . . or Gray Goddess, he supposed was more correct, that attacked them in their home was capable of destroying, not just the planet which was bad enough, but the entire universe. And then, she had this strange attraction for the boy. What type of attraction it was confused him. If it were in the general sense, why would she choose to change him into a child? She had sent the ravens to protect him, however, which could mean her feelings for him might be linked to something . . . maternal? She didn't appear the mothering type, though, unconcerned for his fear or his pain once she had been satisfied that his wounds hadn't been mortal.

Fate was correct. Dick Grayson was important somehow to the resolution. They didn't know how, but they hadn't been able to locate the druid priestess the Fae had told them about as yet. There was a chance that she might have some insight, if not the answers themselves, to how they could defeat and capture the End of All . . . What was her name again?

Dal 'Raita Abn-La . . . The Destroyer of Universes.

And he had thought when they had defeated the enemy called the Anti-Monitor that the universe was safe. That any dangers they faced now were smaller in scale . . . a planetary emergency wasn't looking like such big event now. Even Gotham was suffering because of this new adversary. He hadn't been on patrol for four nights. Thankfully, Arkham was secure for the moment, but he couldn't be sure how long this reprieve would last.

* * *

Bruce could hear sounds coming from behind the door to Jason's room. His lips lifted in response to Dick's laughter and the sound of racing cars. Jason was playing his video game again. Opening the door confirmed his suspicions. Jason was lying on his back with his head hanging off the end of the bed as he raced his vehicle around the track while Dickie bounced on the other end of the bed. The unusual position and the jarring mattress from Dick's entertainment didn't appear to be hindering him, though. Jason looked to be winning.

Dickie saw Bruce in the doorway and grinned even wider, if that was possible.

"Bwoose! See what I do?" he chirped happily.

He bounced once and then performed a perfect backflip on the bed. Unfortunately, one foot landed on a pillow and he stumbled, falling backward towards the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. The child twisted automatically to try to catch himself even as Bruce lunged forward, diving across the bed to grab him but Dick still smacked the side of his face against the corner of the furniture, his hand knocking over the lamp in the process. The lamp crashed to the floor as Bruce pulled the child into a hug as if that might ward off the hurt, but a second later, Dick had caught his breath and began to cry.

" _Ow_! _Ow_!" the boy yelped, holding a hand over his eye. " _I hurt_!"

Immediately, several loud thumps sounded against the window as the ravens outside attempted to break through the glass. Black wings fluttered madly as the birds both pecked and flew their bodies at the window panes in a chaotic display. Dickie screamed, clinging to Bruce and burying his face in the man's neck so he didn't have to see the angry ravens.

Jason had rolled off onto the floor as soon as Bruce dove across the bed, but when the birds started attacking the window, he had raced to his closet and reappeared a second later with a wooden baseball bat in hand.

"What happened? Is Dick alright? Is Jason?" Superman appeared suddenly in the doorway, rushing up upon hearing the crashing lamp shatter and Dickie's scream. He looked surprised at the avian attack. "What the hell is going on out there?"

"Don't let them in!" Jason yelled, taking up a position with his bat.

To their shock, Bruce didn't run out with the boy. Instead, he stepped closer to the window.

"What are you doing?" Jason and Clark asked simultaneously.

Ignoring them, Bruce crooned to the child in his arms, attempting to get the boy to look up. "Let them see you, Dick. Let them know you're all right."

Dick shook his head where he had it tucked.

"No wanna!" His cries were muffled against Bruce's sweater.

One of the ravens pecked again at the window, this time cracking the glass where it struck.

"They're only trying to protect you, chum," Bruce spoke against the boy's hair. He tilted his head back even as he tried to get Dick to lift his up.

"Are you certain of that?" Clark asked stepping closer. The birds dove at the window erratically. "What's wrong with them?"

Bruce moved closer to the window. The birds still flapped wildly, not leaving, but at least they ceased trying to break the glass. He attempted to get Dick to look up once again.

"Dick, let me see your face," he said to the boy. He had yet to see what damage the nightstand had inflicted on him. This request brought the boy's face up so that Bruce could look at it.

A large goose egg had already appeared above Dick's temple but the discoloration extended to his cheekbone in red and blue shades. There was a tiny cut on the edge of the boy's eyebrow as well but it was shallow, the little bit of blood already clotted. Bruce winced in sympathy. It was close enough to his eye that the boy would be sporting a black eye by this afternoon.

"Ouch! That had to smart," Bruce murmured softly. Dick nodded, but his gaze wandered worriedly to the window.

The ravens had calmed considerably since Dick had raised his head but at least three continued to fly right outside of the window, not quite satisfied yet. He was probably out of his mind to do this but if they weren't appeased, the Gray Woman . . . Goddess, he corrected . . . might decide to return herself. Bruce wasn't prepared to meet her yet, even with Superman and members of the Justice League in the house.

They had yet to locate the priestess that Saileach had spoken of; Fate, Constantine, and Zatara were searching for her even now. She was the only one that knew what had defeated the goddess before. If they confronted Dal 'Riata Abn-la now, he had no doubt that people would die and Bruce wanted to keep the number of deaths as low as possible. He hated it but he knew there would be collateral damage with this one.

"Jason, go out into the hall. Shut the door behind you," Bruce said calmly.

Jason, however, was anything but calm. "What? Why?"

"Because Superman is going to open the window," he announced.

"No!" Jason refused, shaking his head. He choked up on the bat. "Bring'em on," he said. "I'm ready."

Bruce turned away from the window enough to glare at the teen. "I'm not prepared for a showdown right now. If we don't want a repeat of the library, we need for those birds to see that Dick is okay," he snapped.

"Fine. Do it," Jason said determinedly. He remained in position, ready to knock a few home runs should those damned birds decide to get out of line. "But, I'm staying."

Holding onto his temper, Bruce took a breath. When he spoke again, his voice was carefully modulated. He couldn't afford for Dick to become more upset than he already was, but there was no way in hell that he would allow Jason to remain in the room if the birds decided to attack or the Gray Goddess returned.

"Jason," Bruce tried again, "the League is downstairs. If she should show up, I'm going to need you to warn them . . ." The teen's face didn't look like he was buying it,

"Did you call the League in?"

"Jason!" he said sharply. "After that, I want you to remain downstairs with Alfred, make sure he's alright."

Jay blinked when Bruce mentioned Alfred. He looked toward the door, uncertainly. Finally, he nodded, lowering the bat but not leaving it. He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"You're really worried about Alfred, aren't you?" Superman asked.

"Not any more than I am about the rest of us," Bruce admitted, some of the tension he had slipping away. "I think Alfred was correct that the fear the goddess projects was responsible for the heart palpitations he was experiencing. I even felt them myself. It just took him a little longer to recover after she left. No, I just wanted Jason safe . . . in case . . ."

Dick squirmed at the conversation. "No wanna see her," he whined.

"That's why we have to let the birds see you," Bruce explained, stepping back to give Superman the room to open the window. "They are only trying to protect you, Dickie."

Superman moved to the window. He glanced back. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Do it! Hurry . . ." The ravens grew agitated again as soon as Bruce moved further away from the window.

Superman opened the window and stepped back. Several of the ravens immediately took the invitation and flew into the room. Dick screamed and buried his face again, clinging to Bruce in terror.

 _God_ . . . He hated having to subject the child to this but how much worse would it be should the goddess show up and decide to take Dick with her this time? He couldn't lose him a second time. Bruce knew without saying that if the goddess took him away, he would never see Dick again.

Two of the birds flew around them, so close that their wings beat against them. Bruce closed his eyes to protect them from talons and called out to Clark.

"Leave them be! Don't try to stop them!" he instructed the Kryptonian. To Dick he lowered his voice and crooned. "It's okay. Relax. They're just trying to check on you."

The child sobbed against his neck. Bruce understood completely. He wanted nothing more than to knock the birds away and race the child to safety, but he knew - _he knew -_ that doing so would bring the goddess to check on the situation herself.

So, he spoke to the birds. It was an insane thing to do, but they weren't normal ravens. They acted as the goddess' eyes; he just hoped that they were her ears as well.

"The child is fine. He's okay. You are just frightening him." Bruce ducked his head to catch the eyes of the boy. "Dick, I need you to raise your head and let them see you."

Dick shook his head.

"They won't go away until they know you're safe," he repeated softly.

The boy hesitated for only a second as he shored up his courage. Bruce had no doubt of the boy's bravery when Dick finally lifted his head and turned it to face the ravens. He felt a shudder pass through that small body as the feathers of one of the wings brushed lightly over his face. It was only then that the birds began to settle down, finding places to perch around the room. The largest of them landed on the bed post closest to them.

He had never been prouder than that moment Dick turned in his arms to face his fear directly. The bird tilted its head as it stared unblinking at the boy, looking first with one eye and then the other. Dick held very still, allowing it.

"His heartrate is beginning to lower," Superman murmured. "He's beginning to calm down."

The boy turns suddenly to look at Bruce. "Flutterbees no hurt me?"

"No, Dickie. They only job is to protect you," Bruce repeated the goddess' claim to him and prayed that it was true.

"You sure?" Dickie sniffled again.

"I think so," Bruce admitted. He wasn't especially sure of anything at this point.

The boy's face was damp with tears and his nose was red and running. Bruce dipped a hand into his pocket and pulled free a handkerchief slowly, so as to not upset their feathered guests. He then wiped the tears away and held the cloth over Dick's nose.

"Blow," he ordered gently.

Dick blew, the noise causing the birds to startle and jump. They flap their wings but remain in place, quickly settling down. Beneath the handkerchief, Bruce saw Dick smile, releasing a small giggle. He turned the cloth over and held it up to Dick's nose again. This time the boy blew harder and with more enthusiasm, making a loud honking sound.

The birds reacted again, flapping in panic for a few seconds and then, once again, settling back onto their perches. Dick laughed out loud at this. The sight was odd as tears still leaked from the boy's eyes even while he laughed at the birds' antics.

Dick looked up at Bruce, smiling now, and asked, "Again?"

 _Well, the birds seem calm enough_. Bruce allowed another honking blow with the same results but, this time, the ravens flapped harder, lifting up into the air. They circled the room until, one by one, each exited through the open window. Superman closed it behind them and turned back to his friend and his son, confusion written all over his face.

"Does that happen often?" he asked, indicating the ravens.

"More often than I'd like," Bruce replied dryly.

This was only the second time in a 24-hour period but it was two times too many for him. The library window had just been replaced earlier that morning before Bruce had descended to the Batcave to run more tests and go over translations. He was growing more uneasy; the more they learned, the more questions he had, and anything that pulled him from his investigation made him frustrated and testy. Unfortunately, both boys tended to take his moods personally, so Bruce was being forced to swallowing his irritation rather that upset them.

The whole situation was already becoming too stressful. Dick still refused to enter his room. When something had awoken Bruce at 5:30 that morning, he had discovered his bed held two additional occupants. Alfred, too, had the look of a restless night when he had met the man at breakfast.

Bruce set Dick down to straighten his shirt and stared. "What's this?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else.

"What's what?" Clark asked, looking innocent and appearing guilty.

"This!" Bruce exclaimed, holding Dick's t-shirt out as he read it aloud. "'Party's At My Crib'? Where'd he get this shirt? I don't remember this being in the clothes that Leslie brought, and I'm positive Alfred would never have picked this out."

Dick smiled down at the shirt, running a proud hand over it. "My new shurt," he announced. "I like it."

"Oh, hm . . ." Clark cleared his throat. "That would be from me." At the look Bruce leveled at him, Clark stammered. "Lois picked it out. We thought it would be a fun shirt for him to wear to the party. I sent it up with Alfred as soon as I arrived."

Bruce shook his head. "The boy doesn't sleep in a crib, Clark. He's old enough for a real bed."

Clark smirked. "It's a play on words, Bruce. 'Crib' also means 'my place' as well as . . ."

"I know the slang term," Bruce finished for him. "What the hell made you decide to throw Dick a . . . a toddler shower? I thought you were just going to bring him a couple of toys to entertain him!"

Dick gasped dramatically at Bruce's slip of the tongue, slapping his hands over his mouth and nose. "You say 'the hell'?"

Bruce tapped his nose. "Sorry, chum. It was an accident. Don't go repeating that."

The child nodded solemnly. "It an axdent," he said, fumbling a bit on his words.

Bruce smiled. "Close enough. Forgive me?"

Dick nodded happily, his earlier fear forgotten. He threw his arms in the air. "Up! Up!" he demanded. Bruce complied, picking him back up. The toddler gave him a hug and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. "It okay," he declared, patting Bruce's cheek.

Clark smirked at the display and shrugged, answering Bruce's question. "Words gotten around the League about what happened to your first partner and now the existence of a second potential partner. They wanted to meet them."

"And so, you thought that inviting them here would be a good idea?" Bruce grumbled, grabbing Dick's hand. He scowled down at the child. "Why are your hands always sticky?" he complained as the toddler lifted both shoulders in an exaggerated movement.

"Dunno," the child exclaimed. "It baffwing!"

Bruce blinked, and then his confusion cleared. "Ah, yes. It _is_ baffling."

"Only those leaguers who already knew your identity and knew Dick were invited," Clark admitted, ignoring the sticky hands mystery.

"And what if someone had seen the Justice League landing in front of my door? How am I going to explain that?" Bruce called over his shoulder as he took Dick into Jason's en suite to wash the boy's hands.

Clark waved a hand dismissively. "No one is here in costume, Bruce. I did a quick change when I heard the crash and Dick's scream, just in case your . . ." His eyes dropped to top of Dick's head as the child squished soap between his fingers. ". . . . in case your 'friend' showed up."

Bruce was drying the sticky-less fingers when the bedroom door opened. Jason peeked inside. Seeing it was all calm, he swung the door wide and stepped back inside.

"Everything okay in here?" he asked.

"I thought I told you to wait in the hall," Bruce chided lightly as he exited the bathroom.

Jason set the bat back into his closet. "I did. But then nothing was happening and it grew quiet in here. I wanted to make sure the ravens weren't, you know, like eating your entrails or something."

Dick's eyes widened. "Flutterbees eat us?" He swiveled his head to stare accusingly at Bruce.

"No," Bruce went immediately on the offensive. "The ravens won't eat us. I told you that. Remember? They didn't hurt you this time."

The tension flowed from that little body like air flowing out of a balloon.

Jason looked around his room. "She didn't come this time, did she?"

Bruce shook his head as he set Dick on his feet on the floor. "I think she might be using the ravens to watch over Dickie."

Jason shuddered. "Oh, man, if that isn't a creepy idea."

"Creepy," Dick echoed.

"Do you know how crazy that sounds?" Clark asked.

"Unfortunately, yes, I do." Bruce said. He waved the boys out in front of him and glanced back at the spectacle that Superman made standing there. "Am I going to find a trail of Clark Kent's clothing on my way downstairs?"

Superman looked down at himself, seemingly surprised. "Oh, I guess I forgot. I'll meet you downstairs in a flash."

Bruce shook his head as his friend disappeared down the hall in front of them. That line got used entirely too much.

"Come on, boys. We have a party to attend and I can have Alfred get some ice to put on that goose egg for you, Dick," Bruce told them as they followed at a normal pace.

"Goose egg? For lunch?" Dick asked as he skipped ahead, seemingly unfazed by his most recent injury.

"Not exactly," Bruce smiled. Dick was even more entertaining at three than he had been at eight.

"We're going to a party," Jason told him.

Dick scowled as they came to the stairs. "What a party?"

Jason laughed. "You'll see. It's going to be like Christmas for you."

"What Chritmas?"

The teen rolled his eyes. "Never mind Christmas. It'll be like your birthday," he clarified.

"Oh," Dick held Jason's hand as he hopped down the steps. Always a dangerous activity as the toddler tried to watch his shoes light up while he did it. "What a birtday?"

Jason glanced back at Bruce for help, but the man was busy rubbing a hand over his mouth. Jason narrowed his eyes. "Are you laughing at us?" he asked suspiciously.

"Not at all," Bruce denied, but there were wrinkles beside his eyes that said otherwise. When he lowered his hand, the man was annoyingly composed.

Dick stopped at the fifth step. "I wanna jump!" he yelped.

"Not again," Jason groaned, tightening his hold on the toddler's hand. "You are going to hurt yourself! You already gave yourself a black eye today."

"Jump! Jump!" Dickie shouted. He jumped up and down on the step, trying to pull his hand free.

Bruce grabbed the boy up into his arms and settled him on his shoulders as he trotted down the last few steps. Jason scowled as Dickie laughed.

"You're just like Superman!" he complained.

Bruce smiled serenely. "Would you like to jump, Jason?" he asked on a whim. "I'll catch you."

Jason hesitated. "Uh . . . no."

"Jump, Jay-Jay!" Dick shouted.

Bruce held out his arms. Jason rolled his eyes and waved Bruce off, tromping down the rest of the stairs in a huff, but Bruce had seen . . . It had been there in his eyes, the urge to do it, to jump. The teen years were tough. Still part child and wanting to partake in child-like activities, but also craving the respect and independence of an adult. At fourteen, Bruce thought Jason should be allowed to have a little fun now and then.

He chuckled, ruffling the teen's hair playfully as he walked by them.

Interestingly, he hadn't felt that way before finding Dick had been 'de-aged'. He had repeatedly demanded that Jason step up if he wanted to be Robin, that he couldn't act like the child that still resided in him. There would only be a few more years before that childhood was permanently regulated to the past. And, it wasn't as if Jay hadn't already forced to grow up too soon considering what his home life had been like before he had been thrust onto the streets to fend for himself.

As Bruce set Dick back onto his feet, he found himself wondering if it were possible to give Jason both before it was too late. The teen was angry far too often as it was. Bruce had been much the same way at the same age, and Alfred continued to lament after Bruce's neglected childhood. The old man had a point, and although Bruce didn't regret the path he took, he would prefer it if Jason could find his own way, one that wasn't so difficult or as isolated as his had been.

"Let's go," he said, urging them forward. "Your guests are waiting."

Dick looked up. "What guests?"

"Visitors," Jason attempted to explain. "Like Superman."

Finally, comprehension dawned in the child's eyes. "Sooper-man!" he squealed. "He fly!"

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes. He knew that Dick would be captivated by Clark's ability to fly. It was what had enamored the boy the first time around as well. He should be used to it by now. Jason stopped just a few feet from the entrance to the living room where members of the Justice League now waited to meet him for the first time and Dickie for the second. Bruce laid a hand on Jason's shoulder and gave him a little push to take him the rest of the way into the room. The room went silent as every head turned to look. Dick slid behind Bruce's legs at the sight of a roomful of strangers. His small hands gripped the man's pantlegs as he hid from curious eyes.

Four of the League's founding members had shown up as well as Oliver Queen and Dinah Lance, all of them already aware of Bruce's identity as well as Dick's. Diana stood up first from where she had sat between Clark and John Jones, Martian Manhunter's alias, and walked over to Jason, looking the teen in the eye. Bruce could sense the older boy's sudden, nervous tension, although none of it showed in his face, a fact that pleased Bruce to no end. She smiled, holding out her hand. Jason stared for a long moment before he managed to pull himself together enough to shake it.

"You must be Jason," she said to him. "I have heard tales of bravery about you from Flash."

Jason blinked at the compliment. He glanced up at Bruce to see if he had heard correctly, then peered around the beautiful heroine's shoulder to search out Barry where he stood behind the sofa. The blonde speedster grinned and tipped a finger in a casual salute.

"It's good to see you again, Jason," Barry greeted.

Jason nodded to the man and then turned back to Diana. He gaped at the six foot tall Amazon until Bruce gave him a gentle nudge.

"Pleased to meet you." The boy's voice sounded breathless.

"You have a good grip," she told him, finally releasing his hand. "It will serve you well in future battles."

"Um . . . Thanks?"

Bruce was amused. Jason hadn't been intimidated when meeting Flash or Superman. Leave it to Diana to have the boy practically swallowing his own tongue in his awe. Then her eye caught sight of Dickie peeking out from around Bruce's legs.

"Great Hera!" Diana gasped, gaping at the child. "Is that . . .?" She glanced up at Bruce before squatting down to put her closer to the child's height. She still towered over him, however, and Dick ducked back behind his guardian.

"It is," Bruce said, confirming the child's identity for them.

"He's _shy_?" she asked in surprise. "He was never shy before."

"He was older then, and had already been Robin for a couple of years before you met him the first time," Bruce reminded her. "You need to understand that he doesn't remember any of you anymore. His memories have been stripped down to the bone. He didn't even know his own name when I found him," he told the others.

Diana angled to peek at the toddler. "Hello there," she smiled gently. "My name is Diana and I am friends with your, um . . . father."

Dick stuck his thumb back into his mouth and backed away, keeping Bruce between them. When he tripped over his guardian's feet, Bruce caught him and scooped him up into his arms.

"Technically, I'm his guardian, not his father," Bruce murmured.

"Oh, pooh," Dinah scoffed. She ignored Bruce's raised eyebrow and Ollie's snort of amusement. "You've never been just a guardian to that boy. He's always seen you as a father whether he'd ever admit that to your face or not."

"He wouldn't," Ollie muttered. At Bruce's expression, he held out an arm. "Oh, come on. You know it's true. Dick would never risk upsetting you by telling you what he held in his heart."

"And he's told _you_?" Bruce asked, annoyed. He didn't want to get into this right now. He just wanted them to meet the boys and leave.

"He didn't have to," Ollie retorted. "It was obvious." The blonde archer stood and walked over to Jason. He grinned as he shook the boy's hand enthusiastically. "Don't let grumpy there get to you. No matter how grim he likes you to think he is, he's a softie at his core."

"Oliver, tread carefully," Bruce warned.

But Ollie just winked at Jason. "I'll show you how to handle a bow and arrow later. Much better than any old batarang."

Diana was playing peek-a-boo with Dick who was leaning his head against Bruce's shoulder. "Bruce, he's even more adorable as a three-year-old than he was at eleven," she told him, referring to the time that she had first met Robin.

Bruce sighed. "Dickie, this is Diana. She's a friend of mine," he told the boy.

Dick blinked those amazing blue eyes at her as he straightened up. He pulled his thumb free with a wet pop and blurted the first thing he thought of.

"You peety," he said in total honesty.

"Thank you," Diana replied. "And, so are you."

"Prrrrretty, Dick," Bruce corrected automatically, but he frowned at Diana. "Dick's a boy, Di. He's handsome or good looking . . . not pretty. Pretty is for girls."

Dinah laughed as she came over to stand next to Diana. "Oh, I don't know about that. Look at those amazing eyelashes! I'd say those are gorgeous!"

Bruce ignored the teasing. "Dick, this is Dinah. Can you say hello?"

"Hell-o," Dick repeated, slowly becoming more animated while ensconced safely in Bruce's arms. "The flutterbees almost get me!"

The women blinked in confusion. "Flutterbees?" Dinah asked.

"Flutterbees try eat me!" Dick exclaimed with a dramatic shiver. Bruce rubbed a hand over the child's back soothingly. Despite the boy's liveliness now, he was truly afraid of the birds that had been appointed his protectors.

"When was this?" Diana frowned.

"Just now," Jason answered. "Up in my room. They are these big, black ravens."

"So, that is where Clark went earlier," Diana concluded, looking back where the Man of Steel still sat on the couch.

"In your room, did you say?" J'onn asked. He had moved to meet the newest addition to Bruce's family. "Are they dangerous?"

"Yeah," Jason shrugged. "I guess they can be. Their boss definitely is. She set the birds up to protect her latest project from harm but it doesn't always work out that way."

"Is that where the child received the bump on his head?" J'onn noted the bruising that was visible around his eye.

"He was jumping on the bed and fell," Jason explained. "The birds went crazy, wanting in to check on him. So, Bruce let them in in order to keep the Gray Woman away. Although, I guess we can call her goddess now, right?"

"We even had a name for her now," Bruce told them. "Dal mmph . . ." Dick slapped a hand over his mouth with big eyes.

"Sh!" The toddler whispered. "No say name! She come!"

Bruce pulled Dick's hand away, frowning that it somehow had become sticky in the time they had traveled from Jason's room to here. The child was breathing faster, begging Bruce with his eyes to not say any more. He ran a calming hand over the boy's head.

"All right," he said. "It's okay. We aren't quite ready to confront her yet, anyway. I won't say her name."

Diana, however, was intrigued. "The one who did this to Robin and killed all those people in Bludhaven is a goddess? Perhaps one of the gods from Olympus knows of her."

Dick whimpered and tucked his head into Bruce's shoulder, wrapping his arms around his neck tightly. "No, no, no."

Taking his cue from the child, Bruce shook his head. "Now's not the time," he said. "I'll brief all of you later, in private. Right now, you all came to see Dick and to meet my ward, Jason Todd." Bruce waved a hand in Jason's direction.

* * *

Jason was looking at J'onn. He _looked_ like a normal man. He was Caucasian with brown hair and green eyes. He was wearing regular clothes, a red turtleneck with brown trousers. No one was wearing their costume, even Superman had changed back into his civilian identity.

"So, which one are you?" Jason asked him.

"I am John Jones in this form, but the world knows me as Martian Manhunter," J'onn told him. "My Martian name is J'onn J'onzz."

"Really?" Jason walked around him in amazement. "That's a lot better disguise than the rest of them. I already know who they are."

"Do you?" J'onn sounded amused by the boy's fascination.

Jason pointed to Ollie and Dinah. "Green Arrow and Black Canary," he announced, then pointed at Clark and Barry, both of whom he had already met. "Superman and Flash." He turned toward Diana, blushing slightly. "And Wonder Woman."

"He's quick," Barry said, grinning.

"Or," Dinah smiled, "he has already been briefed on all of us by Batman."

They were interrupted by Alfred pushing a cart with tea and coffee and other refreshments. "I beg your pardon, but the rest of your guests have arrived."

He was followed in by three young people carrying gifts, all of whom looked to be in their early twenties. Two were red-headed men and the third was a dazzling, dark-haired woman who stepped up to Diana and gave her a kiss on the cheek in greeting.

Diana smiled warmly. "Little sister, come and see what an unknown goddess has done to your friend."

Jason frowned. He looked quizzingly toward Bruce. They looked too young to be members of the Justice League, and he had studied all the members' bios carefully. Best friend? Wonder Woman was speaking of the woman's friendship with Dick, obviously. Was this Wonder Girl?

The two young men gathered around behind her, gaping at the toddler over her shoulders.

"Oh my God!" The freckled one gasped. "I didn't believe Uncle Barry when he told me but he looks . . ."

". . . Just like Dick," the other red finished. "There is no mistaking those eyes."

The young woman grinned. "He's adorable!" she cried, repeating her sister's own words. "Can I hold him?" she asked Bruce, holding out her arms to take the boy.

"He's a little shy," Bruce warned as he tried to determine the child's willingness.

Dick ducked his head again but, a second later, peeked out to smile at the pretty girl. All women present cooed in response. Jason rolled his eyes. Even at three, the guy already knew how to play the ladies.

"This is Donna, Dickie. And those two are Wally and Roy," Bruce reintroduced Dick to his friends. "Do you remember them?"

Jay knew the kid didn't, but Bruce had to ask on the off chance something of the boy's old life lingered. Dick shook his head so hard his hair fell into his eyes and he wobbled precariously, causing Bruce to have to steady him. The three friends looked disappointed but they had already been told that Dick's memories had been stolen from him.

"Let's try this," Bruce said, setting Dickie on his feet again.

The child's eyes widened and he hurriedly held his arms up to Bruce. "Up! Up!" he demanded.

Bruce smiled at him but didn't pick him back up. "Everyone is here for you, Dickie," he told the boy, but the child was having none of it.

The toddler looked at Alfred, but the butler was busy passing out coffee or tea, so it was no surprise that Dick ran to Jason next. "Up, Jay-Jay. Up! _Up_!" he cried out.

Jason pulled Dick onto his hip and the boy laid his head down on Jason's shoulder, watching the new people from his new perch of safety, thumb tucked back into his mouth. He shook his head in annoyance; this wasn't one of the brightest ideas of Superman's. The kid was obviously intimidated by seeing this many new faces at one time.

Donna looked disappointed. "Somehow, I thought he would recognize me."

"He doesn't remember anything!" Jason snapped. "Didn't anyone warn you about that?"

The new group acknowledged Jason for the first time. The one related to Barry eyed him curiously, but the other redhead frowned at him. He glared at Bruce, pointing at Jason.

"Is this who you replaced Dick with?" Roy accused. "Not cool, man."

"Roy," Ollie began.

"No way, Ollie. Dick was this guy's partner for almost a decade, and he dumps him for this guy?" Roy complained. He walked over to Jason, sizing him up and obviously not liking what he saw. "What have _you_ got that Dick didn't?"

Jason scowled, opening his mouth to defend himself when Dickie leaned out and slapped at Roy's chest.

"No yell at Jay-Jay!" Dick shouted. "He _mine_!"

Roy blinked in surprise. Wally and Donna started laughing as they walked over to join them.

"Look, Roy, whatever happened between them," Wally told his friend, "is between Bruce and Dick. I'm pretty sure Jay-Jay hadn't much say in it, so don't take it out on him."

Jason groaned. "Don't call me Jay-Jay," he grumbled. He glared down at the child in his arms. "See what you did? Now, everyone is going to call me that stupid nickname."

Dick patted Jason's face. "No be mad, Jay-Jay."

Jason tugged the toddler's hand back down. Bruce was right; Dick's hands were always sticky.

"My name is Jason. Nobody's allowed to call me Jay-Jay . . ." He sighed and clarified. "Except for him," indicating the child in his arms. It wasn't like Dickie wouldn't continue to call him that anyway.

Donna smiled at him. "Dick likes you."

"Dick likes everyone," Jason shrugged. "There were just too many people being introduced to him at once. And, it's not like he hasn't had a few rough days since being shrunk, either. He's allowed to be a little scared of new things."

"We're not the ones who are new here," Roy blurted, still frowning.

Jason didn't back down. "Maybe not before, but you are now. Give him some space."

"Jason," Bruce said. "They are his friends. They only want to see that he's okay."

"Fine," Jay snapped. He turned back to Roy and the others. "He's okay."

"If he was okay, he wouldn't be sucking his damned thumb," Roy retorted.

Dick pulled out his thumb and looked at it. "Damn thumb?" he blurted. He held it up for Jason to see. "See damn thumb?"

"Way to go," Jay snarked, then glanced over at Alfred and Bruce. "I didn't teach him that! You can't blame _that_ one on me."

"Damn thumb!" Dick squealed.

Jason lowered the damp appendage before Dick accidentally poked him in the eye. "Don't say that word," he told the child. "That's another bad word."

Dickie sucked in a dramatic breath and covered his mouth. "Bad word!" His yelp was muffled behind his hand. When he lowered his hand, he asked, "Like 'the hell'?"

Jason laughed and nodded. "Yeah, just like that."

"And 'oh shit'?" Dick asked.

Ollie started laughing at that, earning a jab in the ribs by Dinah. "What? It's not like I taught him those words."

"You're encouraging him," she told him.

Donna changed the subject by waving a small package in front of the boy. "Who likes presents?"

Dick smiled at the pretty, silver package with a bright blue bow. He reached for it even as he asked, "What present?"

"This present, buddy," Wally said.

"He was asking what a present is," Jason explained.

"He doesn't know what a present is?" Wally looked dumbfounded.

"He doesn't know what a lot of things are. When the goddess . . ."

Dick dropped the package to cover his ears, whining in distress.

"I'm sorry, Dickie," Jason apologized, and then continued carefully. "When _she_ de-aged him, she took almost everything from his memories. You don't know what he might not understand. Some of it is surprising."

"Who is this god- . . ." Roy started to ask.

"Sh! We don't say her name or refer to her outright," Jason told them. "Not only does it upset Dickie but we think it might be possible to call her here by saying her name aloud."

"Then, why don't we?" Roy looked around the room at the Leaguers present. "We could kick her ass and force her to change Dick back."

"Language," Jason reminded him. He couldn't believe _he_ was actually warning other people not to curse. "And I don't think it works that way. Bruce could explain it better, I think."

"Why don't you try?" Donna suggested patiently.

Jason sat Dick down on the floor by his feet and handed him the present he had just dropped. Better if the kid was distracted.

He lowered his voice. "I don't think Bruce believes we _can_ defeat her. At least, not yet. There is something, some information, that we're still missing. That and some old druid priestess," he added in a mumble.

"You're kidding?" Wally raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"I swear," Jason told them. "That's what this demon and this fairy chick told us yesterday, and they seemed to know what they were talking about."

"Whoa! Did you just say a demon and a fairy?" Roy barked out a laugh in disbelief. "Come on. I don't think this kid knows what he's talking about."

Jason shrugged. "Believe or don't, no skin off my nose, but go ahead and ask _him_ ," he gestured toward the man they all knew as Batman. " _He'll_ tell you the same thing."

Donna waved her hands to calm things down. "You know as well as anyone that demons exist," she said to her friends. "I've never met a fairy, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. Maybe he's telling the truth?" she put the question to the other two. "There must be something to him if Batman chose him to wear Dick's costume."

"Just who are you guys, anyway?" Jason muttered.

"We're the Teen Titans," Roy told him. "Don't tell me you've never heard of us?"

Jay shrugged. "Maybe . . . Maybe not. I've had a lot of important things on my mind to worry about some teenage hangout."

"Yeah? What kind of things?" Roy challenged.

"What this?" Dickie's small voice interrupted, drawing their attention as he turned the unwrapped gift over and over in his small hands.

Donna squatted down in front of him and picked up the blue bottle, unscrewing the top and pulling out a wand with a circle on the end.

"These are bubbles," she grinned and blew on the wand. Dozens of bubbles appeared suddenly, floating in front of the boy's face.

Dick squealed with happiness, laughing as he leapt to his feet to bat at the bubbles that swirled around him in a frenzy. Every head turned in response to the happy noise, laughing with the boy as he danced in circles, attempting to pop them while Donna blew even more bubbles with which to entertain him.

"Bubbles! Bwoose, Jay-Jay, look bubbles!" Dick yelled. "Alfed! Alfed, See bubbles!"

"If he likes bubbles _this_ much," Barry commented, "then my present will be a huge hit."

"I hardly dare to ask," Bruce looked at him, suspiciously, "but, what is it?"

"Be back with it in a flash," Barry said as he disappeared in a whip of wind. The bubbles went wild.

"I wish he'd quit saying that," Bruce grumbled.

The man reappeared a second later in front of Dick, and Bruce jumped up. "Oh, no! No, Barry. You can't give him that!"

But it was too late . . .

"I thought you both might share," Barry told both boys even as he set the black Labrador puppy on the floor in front of the younger of the two. Jason dropped to his knees as the puppy jumped on Dick's chest and started licking the child in the face.

"Best gift _EVER_!" Jason yelled over Dick's shriek of delight.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Not sure if we'll name the dog Ace or not . . . Personally, I always thought the name lacked a bit in creativity. But I think we're going to have some fun with it. I was trying to think of what gift would be a big hit with the kids, but would annoy Bruce to no end. LOL!**

 **So, if nothing else, the pup and the boys' antics will still provide an unending plethora of comic relief for the darker bits of the story. ;D You're welcome!**

 **And FF is not cooperating with me. It will not allow me to use the "at" sign (You know the one. The a with a circle around it found above the number 2 on your keyboard.). It just drops it completely, which is annoying. Anyway, Dick's new shirt says "Party 'at' My Crib" with that sign used in it. Utterly adorable if you could have seen it the way it was supposed to be. Anyway, now you know and can put it in its proper place in your mind.**


	18. The End of a Good Day

**It's taken forever but here it is. Something to tide you over until I finish up my classes. Finding time to write with my schedule is difficult and I cannot guarantee that I'll manage to get another one out before the end of the year. Just make sure you've either faved or are following the story so you'll be notified whenever the next one goes up. Thank you for not deserting me during this time, but real life sometimes has to take precedence. Here's hoping you'll reward me for thinking of you by posting a review for the chapter or for the story in general. ;D**

 **No Warnings** **. . .**

* * *

Ollie walked back the distance from where he set up the targets in the garden, eyeing the surrounding flock of ravens that seemed to fill the budding trees. It hadn't taken long for the party to move into the sunshine outside once Dick and Jason had begun opening their gifts. Bruce wasn't particularly fond of the archery set Oliver gave to the boys, but only Jason's bow and arrows were the real deal. Dick's arrows had suction cups at the ends. Ollie was making good on his promise to give Jason a lesson before he left.

"Does anyone else think this is creepy besides me?" Ollie asked glancing around at the large, black birds that seemed uncomfortably interested in what they were doing.

"Their behavior _is_ rather unnerving," J'onn admitted. He looked over at Bruce from where he, Barry, Clark, and Dinah currently stood, watching the lesson. "And you say that the Gray Woman set the birds up as the child's protectors?"

"That was what she said," Bruce affirmed as he kept a close eye on Dick where he played with his friends a few yards away.

At the moment, the youngest member of their party was learning how to shoot his own bow and suction-cup arrows with Roy as Wally shouted encouragement from the sidelines. It was proving to be a difficult task as the child kept being distracted by all the activity around him, in particular, by the activity of one energetic, black puppy. The pup went from smelling the grass one minute, to barking for attention the next, only to end up tugging on Dick's pants while he struggled to aim at the makeshift target. Donna salvaged the lesson for them by picking up the pup and holding it as she chatted with Diana nearby.

"Come on, Dick. Pay attention," Roy said, trying to get the toddler to focus for more than two seconds at a time. "Okay, now hold the arrow like this." He showed the boy how to notch the arrow and handed it to him. "That's it, pull back on the string."

Dick drew back the string, the arrow wobbled a bit but he didn't drop it. He turned to look at Bruce, moving the bow as he did until it was aiming at Wally.

"Whoa! Dude! Watch where you're pointing that thing," Wally yelped playfully, holding his hands up in surrender.

Roy turned the boy back in the direction of his target, a plastic board they strung up to the base of a tree. "Easy there, champ," he warned lightly. "You could hurt someone with that."

"It's only tipped with a rubber suction cup," Diana frowned. "He should be learning with real arrows like the other one." She waved a hand towards the other side of the yard. "Jason's arrows are steel."

Donna laughed. "We're not on Themyscira, Diana."

"Of course not," Diana pursed her lips as she rolled her eyes. "He is a man-child. He wouldn't be allowed on the island but that doesn't mean one should shirk a proper education."

Roy grinned. "It is only a suction cup arrow for now," he reminded her. "One day, when he's older, he'll graduate to the real thing."

Diana was unimpressed. "Donna and I were practicing with the real thing at this age," she muttered. The sisters were the only two Amazons to had ever had a childhood, the others of their kind having been ready-made warriors from the onset of their creation.

"You say that like he's not going to be back to normal by next week," Wally said to Roy.

The archer shrugged. "I don't know, Wally. I kind of like him this way. Think about it. If we keep him small, we might be able to win once in a while at poker."

Wally perked up at that happy thought, grinning. "Hey! That's a good point!"

Donna laughed. "It's a card game, Diana," she explained.

"I know poker," Diana stated, surprising them all. "Steve taught me to play shortly after we met."

"Really? Well, the guys are just jealous because Dick's always had a better poker face than them," Donna went on to say. "No matter how hard they try, Dick's always been able to tell whenever they're bluffing but Wally or Roy have never been able to figure out Dick's bluffs in return. Dick won every game."

"Why would you continue to play if you had no chance to win?" Diana asked.

"Ah, but there was hope that one day we'd succeed," Roy admitted. "Then, we'd have bragging rights."

"Don't forget, he beats you, too, princess," Wally reminded Donna before returning to the action. Dick wobbled again and dropped the arrow into grass. "Come on, Dickie! You can do it! Does it seem weird to anyone else that Dick doesn't know how to do this already?"

"I know, right? I always thought he had been born with the innate ability to accomplish anything." Roy said as he helped the toddler pick up the arrow and notch it for the twentieth time. He pointed the boy in the right direction. "Okay, Dickie. Draw it back like I showed you. That's the way! Now then . . . let it go!"

Instead of releasing the string and letting the arrow fly, Dick let go of everything. Both the bow and arrow fell to the ground this time as the boy broke into giggles, clapping his hands in delight. Wally dissolved into laughter as Roy groaned in frustration.

"He's just a little kid now, Roy" Donna reminded the red-haired archer, grinning. "Little kids tend to take the things you say literally."

Roy sighed, picking up the bow and arrow again. "Are you saying this is my fault?"

"No," Wally smirked, "but Ollie and Jason seem to be doing alright."

Roy notched the plastic arrow and shot it at his companion with the lightning reflexes that had earned him the name 'Speedy'. The suction cup smacked Wally in the center of his forehead and stuck. The speedster yelped in surprise and tugged it free with a 'pop' only for his friends to burst into laughter at the red mark it left behind.

"Oh, man," Wally complained good-naturedly as he rubbed at the mark. "Is it going away?"

Dick patted his leg. "It okay. I got one, too," he said, lifting his bangs to show off the black mark he bore.

Diana wandered over to stand beside Bruce. She noted the soft smile of amusement he had been wearing faded at Dickie's inadvertent admission.

"Don't stop. You should do that more often." Diana's voice came from his right. "It looks good on you."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Your smile," she told him. "I like it. Why don't you admit it, Bruce? Despite the odd situation, you're enjoying yourself," she charged. "Dick's absolutely adorable at this age."

He grunted in response.

They continued watching the fun as Roy tickled the toddler in retaliation and Wally zipped in to save him. The speedster put the boy on his shoulders as he ran around the yard just fast enough to stay ahead of the archer. Because they were well hidden by the manor, Donna used her power of flight to snatch the child from his perch. The puppy barked as it chased after them, leaping in the air in a futile effort to catch them. Dickie squealed with joy, his happy sounds drawing everyone's attention for a few minutes.

"Do you think this is what he was like at this age the first time around?" Diana tilted her head, considering the boy, as she asked.

If anything, Bruce grew even more sober as he watched the toddler playing with his grown-up friends. He shook his head slowly. "No, Di. He's different."

Diana glanced at him. "But, how could you know for sure? He was already eight years old when you met him."

"Dick has told me stories of growing up in a circus and I've had occasion to hear a few about Dick's early childhood from Pop Haley himself," Bruce murmured quietly. "Dick's parents already had him up training on the trapeze by this age. Some of the other performers were teaching him how to walk a tightrope as well as basic trick riding on the ponies at three and four."

Just for an instant, Diana caught a glimpse of the sadness in those blue-gray eyes before he looked away. Bruce was grieving for the things his boy had lost, although the child himself was unaware of all that he was missing.

"Now?" Bruce muttered angrily. "Dick no longer even remembers what a horse _is_ . . . let alone an elephant." He blew out his breath in frustration. "He's lost so much because of that creature."

Diana laid a hand over his arm. "We'll find this witch and force her to give him back memories. Bruce, why didn't you come to us with this information sooner?"

"If only it could be as easy as that. And, the truth is, Diana, I didn't _have_ this information before last night. There was nothing that I could have told you before now," he grumbled. "Even so, there is still much more to this that you don't understand."

"Such as?"

"Dal 'Riata Abn'La is, apparently, a goddess of death and destruction," he told her quietly.

He paused, his eyes scanning the trees for the ravens, just in case speaking her name could, indeed, summon her as Dick believed. The birds ignored Bruce, their cold, black gaze intent on the child in their midst. But then, _he_ was beneath the goddess' notice, wasn't he?

"Have you heard tell of her?" Bruce asked. He was curious to see what Diana might know.

Diana frowned as she turned the unfamiliar name over in her mind. "I don't recognize it, but that doesn't mean that someone from Olympus might not have heard of her. I'll go after this and find out what I can."

"Anything would be helpful. Etrigan seemed to believe that the Gray Woman would destroy us all," Bruce told her.

She raised an eyebrow. "The demon said that?" she asked, to which Bruce nodded.

"Yes, and the fairy seemed to agree with him."

"A fairy?" Diana found herself smirking. "Why do I miss out on the most interesting conversations?"

"They prefer to be called the 'Fae', I'm told," Bruce told her. "You are not aware of them?"

She shrugged. "I've heard of them but have never met any of their kind. They reportedly left this dimension more than a millennia ago."

Barking drew their attention back to the activities going on around them.

The pup was on the loose again, Bruce noted, and chasing after Dickie. The boy laughed as the dog yapped and tried to catch him. The pup suddenly caught hold of the seat of Dickie's pants and the boy ran in circles, dragging the growling pup after him. Roy barely managed to rescue him unable as he was to reign in his own laughter. Donna spent a moment trying to get the puppy to release the boy's pants before a hole was ripped in them.

Bruce had to admit, the little beast could hold onto Dickie's attention for more than five minute blocks. Roy tucked Dick under one arm as he reached for the dog with the other, only to be nipped by the excitable animal. He yelped, scolding the non-repentant puppy as he shook his hand. Dickie, very generously, offered to kiss the young man's boo-boo for him.

Jason whooped loudly, then, pulling Bruce and Diana's attention to the other side of the yard. His arrow not only hit the target but had struck the inner edge of the bullseye.

"Did you see that, Bruce? Did you?" the fourteen-year-old yelled at him. He was practically glowing with pride.

Bruce smiled at the young teen. Jay was taking to the archery like a pro and he was achieving impressive results with an unfamiliar weapon. Ollie grinned, ruffling his hand through the boy's hair. Jay was having such a good time, he accepted the archer's playfulness with barely a flinch. Ollie seemed oblivious to the small tell.

"You're a natural, kid," the blonde archer praised the teen. "I'm telling you, Bruce, if you don't need him, I'll take him in a heartbeat. I could use a new sidekick since Speedy's decided to spend more time with the Teen Titans."

Jason beamed under the praise but he was staring at Bruce, waiting for _his_ approval. Ollie was cool and all, but it was easy to see who the boy looked up to.

"Glad you recognize talent when you see it, Ollie, but you can't have him. Jason is mine." It was the closest Bruce had ever come to claiming Jason outright and here he had done it in front of the Justice League. A flush of pink covered Jason's cheeks and he looked as though he would burst with joy.

"You've made him very happy," J'onn stated unnecessarily. "He seeks to impress you."

Bruce grunted, covering any reply he might have made by taking a drink of his bottled water. He obliged the boy by watching as he took another shot, clapping when the second arrow struck even closer to the center than the previous one. Even Ollie was getting excited and bent down to give Jay some more advice on the draw and release of the bowstring.

A heavy, dark clouds passed in front of the sun and they were suddenly plunged into shadow. The temperature felt like it dropped a few degrees. It seemed like a warning that time was running out and a storm unlike any other was brewing on the horizon.

He had wasted enough time. As enjoyable as the last couple of hours were, it didn't erase the threat that loomed over them all. As much as he hated to ruin the boys' fun, it was time for the party to end. He'd send the them upstairs to clean up with Alfred while he took the others down to the Batcave. He would fill them in on what he had discovered so far and officially ask for their help.

* * *

The clock on the mantle in the living room chimed the half hour. The fire eased the nip from the air this fine spring evening and cast everything in the room in a warm glow. The League had finally left just before dinner with promises to do whatever they could to combat this newest threat when next she appeared. In the meantime, Bruce tried to enjoy a few rare minutes of peace before he returned to his research in the cave below.

"I'm sorry, Dickie. You can't name him that," Bruce said, leaning forward. His elbows rested on his knees as he spoke to the toddler on the floor in front of him. He glanced over at Jason in exasperation. " _You_ need to stop. You're not helping."

Jason responded by sliding off the sofa and onto the floor. He fell over onto his side, tears in his eyes, as he held his stomach. "Oh my God, Bruce! I'm serious," he gasped in the middle of his hysteria. "It's p-perfect!"

Bruce frowned at the older boy's exaggerated behavior. "You needn't encourage him, you know."

He looked back at Dick who was struggling to hold onto the little black dog while it licked frantically at his face. The pup had slept through dinner and was now full of energy. "Come on, Dickie. Surely there is another name we can call him instead?" Bruce asked.

"No! His name Booger!" Dick shook his head, giggling in delight at the pup's antics. "Stop, Booger! It tickles!"

"Did _you_ put him up to this?" Bruce asked Jason but the teen shook his head between his guffaws.

"Blame Roy," Jay gasped out. "He called the dog that when it nipped his finger."

Sighing, Bruce cast a helpless glance toward Alfred. "Booger isn't exactly a proper name for a puppy," he said to Dick. "How about . . . uh, Ace?"

Jason snorted, grinning. "Ace? Oh, c'mon. You can do better than that!"

"I had a dog named Ace once, you know," Bruce informed him.

"Lame . . ." Jay maintained.

Bruce scowled. "So, what would _you_ name him, then?"

Jason shrugged from where he still laid on the carpet. "How should I know? I've never had a pet before."

"Why don't you give it a try?" Alfred suggested. "Perhaps Master Dick might find something he likes better if he were to have a few more 'suitable' names from which to choose?"

"His name Booger!" Dick insisted as the puppy escaped from his arms and ran over to Jason to lick his face. "Bwoose! Booger give Jay kisses!" he squealed with laughter.

Jason sputtered and covered his face with his arms as the puppy leapt all over him. Jay dissolved once more into his own laughter, making Bruce smile.

 _It sounds nice_ , he thought, listening to the teen. Jason didn't laugh nearly enough. Dick had managed it somewhat, opening the older boy up more than Bruce had ever dreamed possible, but the pup's enthusiastic licks were easily demolishing the last of whatever barriers that Jason might retain.

He thought about his earlier annoyance at Barry for presenting the boys with a pet without previously discussing the idea with Bruce first. He didn't even try to deny the fact that he would have refused outright had his teammate asked him about it beforehand, but it had only taken one short hour, watching the boys playing together with the puppy, to realize the dog's addition was quickly tearing down the walls that Jason had arrived with. And, there was no denying that Dick had completely forgotten the earlier incidents with the ravens and their master.

A heavy sigh had him turning to Alfred. The elder man was watching the action on the carpet with an odd expression . . . Whimsy, perhaps?

"It seems I should prepare a place for the pup to spend the night," Alfred told him with only the slightest touch of resignation. The ever-so-proper English butler refused to refer to the small beast by Dickie's chosen name.

Dick had landed on Jason and the two set to wrestling playfully, rolling across the carpet, giggling. They were followed by a determined black shadow. The puppy barked happily as its too-big paws landed first on one child and then the other as it attempted to climb on top of the pair before being sent tumbling a second later. It was a scene Bruce had never had hoped to see in his lifetime, not in his own home. The contentment that unfolded within his chest was a feeling that was foreign to him, and recognizing it for what it was very nearly set off a panic attack.

He forcefully reminded himself that he couldn't get use to this. Fate had already stripped one family from him. If Bruce lowered his guard even for a moment . . . He suppressed a shudder at the memory of Dick's ashen face as Alfred had worked frantically over him after Joker had put two bullets into him. Robin had nearly bled out in the Batmobile before Batman had arrived back at the Batcave, tires screeching as the car glanced off one of the other vehicles and hit the heavy rail that separated the turnstile from the open drop to lower levels. Dick had already been exhibiting symptoms of hypovolemic shock at the end of the mad race.

If Leslie hadn't been gone, he could have taken the boy to her first, but doctor had been out of the country at the time, on a mission trip to the Congo. As it was, the extra ten minutes it had taken to get back to the cave had almost been _too_ long. Remembering how Dick's body had jumped under the current from the defibrillator to even out the erratic, fluctuating beat of his heart as it had struggled to push its dwindling supply of blood through a collapsing circulatory system still caused Bruce to wake up in the night sweating, even after all these months. Alfred's intensity as he started Dick on an I.V. whole blood and then again as he drained off the fluid and air that had been trapped within the pleural cavity found between the lung and the chest wall had convinced Bruce that Dick was about to expire on the table.

The boy obviously had no idea how close he had come to death that night by the way he had argued his case when Bruce had announced his decision to force Robin's early retirement, but Bruce had known . . . Watching Dick and Jason play now, the knowledge of the Gray Woman and the danger that she presented caused Bruce to worry anew that this newfound contentment could be crushed in the space of a heartbeat. That he could lose them both nearly sent him retreating to the relative safety of the cowl. He could lose himself for a few hours pummeling criminals . . .

"Ow," Jason yelped, slapping a hand over an ear. "Booger just bit me!"

Dickie sat up beside him, concerned. "What Booger do?"

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You would do well to remember that puppies have sharp teeth and they enjoy chewing on things." The butler paused, distress flickering across his face momentarily. "Oh, dear." He looked at Bruce. "The furnishings . . . Perhaps outside in one of the outbuildings, or maybe the garage, might be a better place for the puppy for the time being?"

Jason rubbed his ear gingerly and frowned. "Aw, don't punish the little guy for biting me. It was just a little nip."

Dick stopped examining Jay's ear to scoop the Labrador puppy protectively in his arms. "Alfed take Booger way?" he asked worriedly. "B-But flutterbies get him!"

"I'm sure the ravens will not do any such thing," Alfred began.

"But they _might_!" Jason exclaimed. "Booger can't go outside!"

"Nooo!" Dickie groaned. "No take Booger!"

"Bruce," Jason pleaded, "please! He can sleep in my room."

"Absolutely not," Alfred stated. "Animals do not belong upstairs."

Dick's bottom lip protruded as his chin began to wobble. He clutched tightly at the puppy, enough so that the dog squirmed to be released. Bruce sent up a prayer of long-suffering when those big blue eyes glistened in his direction.

"Perhaps a box in the boys' bathroom?" Bruce suggested. "Just for tonight, Alfred. Until we can make other arrangements."

"Yeah," Jay smiled brightly at that compromise. "The bathroom . . . Please, Alfie?"

Dick realized suddenly that hope was in the air. He added his pout to plea. "Pease?"

Alfred looked at the three of them, lifting an unamused eyebrow in Bruce's direction. "Really, Master Bruce," he said. "The idea that a pup this young would be housebroken is highly unlikely."

"Pease, Alfed?" Dickie begged.

"Come on, Alfred," Jay added. "We'll look after him, clean up any messes . . ."

"That is exactly what I am talking about. You and Master Dick need your sleep. Something," he told them, "that will not happen with a puppy whining all night long."

"I can sleep through anything," Jason assured him. A blatant lie, they all knew.

Alfred eyed the three of them again. "Against my better judgement, I will arrange for something in the laundry room." He held up a hand to forestall any arguments. "That is the best you may hope for. Now then, Jason, can you go into the garage and find me a suitable box for the pup to use as a bed while I gather newspaper from the recyclables."

Jason sighed, knowing the futility of arguing with the man, and climbed to his feet. "Yes, sir," he muttered, unhappily.

Dickie was glancing around, blinking. "Where laundry?"

"The laundry room is off the kitchen," Bruce explained. "The puppy . . ."

"Booger," Dickie corrected.

". . . can sleep in there," Bruce finished. "He'll be warm and perfectly safe from the ravens there."

"His name is Booger," Dick insisted.

"There are many names out there, Dickie. Better names," Bruce tried to convince him. Dick stared back at him obstinately. "What about . . ." Bruce glanced around the room for inspiration and finding none, "Harry."

Dick tilted his head, frowning. "Booger is hairy," he agreed after a moment, running his hand over the shiny black fur. "Hairy Booger," he grinned.

"I didn't mean hairy as in fur. What I meant was . . . Ah, never mind," Bruce muttered. "What about Chester?"

"Not Chester," Jason groaned as he walked back in with a medium-sized crate in his hands. "That's awful, Bruce." He held out his find. "Here. Will this do?"

"That should be fine," he told him, "and don't criticize if you aren't going to offer up anything better,"

Dick shook his head. "His name is **_Booger_**!"

Jason smirked, but then turned thoughtful. "What about Max?" he asked the younger boy.

"Booger," Dick replied firmly, crossing his arms. The puppy, free at last, ran toward Jason, stumbling over its paws in its excitement.

Bruce tried next. "Rover?"

"Worse!" Jason snorted. Kneeling, he rubbed a hand over the dog's silky fur as it sniffed curiously at the crate. "How about Duke?"

Alfred walked in with several used newspapers he had taken from the recycling bin. "Are we not taking into consideration the fact that the pup is female?"

Jason rolled his eyes. "Fine . . . Duke-ette, then."

It was Bruce's turn to smirk. "And you thought Rover was bad?"

Alfred tapped a finger to his chin. "Perhaps, Shadow? That name isn't exclusively male or female, and the dog _is_ black."

Jason sat up. "Shadow is good," he admitted as he watched Dickie trying to squeeze beneath the sofa in an effort to keep up with the puppy's explorations. Jay grasped the toddler's ankles and tugged him back out. "You're going to get stuck under there, doofus," Jay scolded. "So, what do you think about the name Shadow, Dickie? It's better, isn't it?"

Dick kicked to get free and rolled onto his back. He scowled at Jason and Alfred from his position. "No Shadow . . . _Booger_!"

"I'm sorry, Master Dick," Alfred told him in no uncertain terms. "I refuse to call your pet by that unsightly name."

Dick had finished standing up and now he stamped his little foot, making the lights on his shoes flicker madly in response. " **His name is BOOGER** _ **!**_ " he yelled loudly. The puppy crawled out from under the furniture to run to Dick, jumping up against his leg. "See? He know his name!"

Bruce blinked at Alfred. "You don't think the puppy is answering to that name already, do you?"

Oh, dear heavens, I certainly hope not," Alfred exclaimed.

Dick flopped back down onto the floor, scooping Booger up in his arms. "His name is Booger," he said with finality.

"Booger is a girl, Dickie," Jason told him. "Shouldn't she have a girl's name?" When Dickie just looked at him unimpressed, Jay smiled and shrugged. "You don't care, do you?"

Dickie smiled back, hugging their new pet. Booger didn't seem to mind and twisted around happily to nibble on Dickie's ear.

" _Ow_!" Dick yelped. "No, Booger! You no eat me." He tapped the pup on the nose and it tried to chew on the boy's finger. " _Ow_! Bwoose! Booger eat me."

Jason grabbed a treat from where they were set on the end table and waved it enticingly in the air. "Here, Booger," he crooned. "Come get your treat."

Booger tripped in its mad scramble to get to Jason. She woofed the treat down while its entire back end wagged along with her tail. Dick ran over to grab the box of treats next.

" **I wanna give Booger a treat, too!** " he squealed at the top of his lungs.

Alfred winced. "We use our inside voices in the house, Master Dick."

"I wanna give Booger a treat, too," he whispered and pulled out a handful.

Alfred took the box and all but one treat away. "Two is enough for tonight," he murmured. "I'm sure the pup . . ."

"Booger," Dick corrected, plopping himself down in Jason's lap as he handed the pup her treat. She ate it like she was starving, although she had been fed earlier in the kitchen, before climbing into Dickie's lap.

"Yes, quite," the manservant rolled his eyes toward Bruce. "I'm certain someone would like some water and a walk before bed."

Bruce started slightly, seeing Alfred looking at him expectedly. " _Me_? But, she's the boys' dog."

"Ravens," Alfred reminded him. "Certainly, you wouldn't send the children out in the dark while those dreadful creatures are still looming?"

Bruce looked out the window as if he could see the black birds in the darkness and sighed. He didn't want the boys outside by themselves with the ravens either, although he was coming to believe the birds meant no harm to any of them. But, he was uncomfortable letting either boy out of his or Alfred's sight at this time. He rose to his feet, reaching for the leash.

"I'm going to _kill_ Flash for this," he complained.

"I thought Batman didn't kill," Jason smirked up at him. Dick and the pup were both on his lap, but Booger abandoned them both to attack Bruce's shoelaces.

"Batman doesn't, but Bruce Wayne might. Ah, ah, don't do that," Bruce scolded the pup as he scooped her up to attach the leach to her pink collar. "That's a no-no . . ." He hesitated before sighing in defeat. "There's no hope for it then. Come on, Booger. Let's go for a walk."

Dickie giggled and Jason grinned. Bruce suspected they were in cahoots with one another over the dog's name. Both boys had obviously been waiting all evening to hear Batman say ' _Booger_ '.

"She deserves a better name," he grumbled to no one in particular as he turned to leave on his new mission. The pup was chewing contentedly on one of his fingers. Wincing, he readjusted his grip. Those puppy teeth _were_ sharp! He would look into purchasing her a few chew toys. Perhaps, if she had plenty of toys around, she would be distracted from gnawing on the furniture legs.

"There are plastic bags in the pantry, sir," Alfred called out helpfully as Bruce passed by.

He grunted an acknowledgement, turning in the direction of the kitchen. "No jury in the land would convict me . . ." he muttered under his breath, imagining the speedster wearing a well-placed batarang.

* * *

Bruce entered the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and he saw no reason to wake Alfred when Batman was staying in for another night. Bruce could make his own coffee; it was his one meager accomplishment in the kitchen. He was finally making some headway with the translations, not that the story the box told was making much sense. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around the idea of an undead army but what else could the words ' _dead/not dead_ ' mean?

It was with zombies on his mind that he first heard the noises, thumps and scratches.

Bruce stopped in the middle of the kitchen to listen, the coffee pot in one hand, the other hand paused on the kitchen tap. It took him a minute to remember the newest member of the family. Booger – he sighed over the unfortunate name – sounded as though he was making himself at home in the laundry room. He finished filling the pot with water and set it on the stove to boil before making his way over silently.

The laundry was just off the kitchen, through a doorway off the mudroom, to be exact. Last thing he wanted to do, if the pup was being this quiet, however, was to disturb it and set it whining again.

Bruce paused in the entrance to the mudroom to stare at the light stretching across the floor from beneath the laundry room door. He didn't think that Alfred would have bothered with a light for the puppy, believing that a darkened room might better induce the dog to sleep, but there was a light. Then again, what did he know. Ace had already been housebroken when he had come to stay all those years ago.

The noise sounded again – a rhythmic thumping, something against the dryer, perhaps, like a tail. He frowned, memories of Ace's early days at the manor coming to the fore. Even older, Ace had still whined for several nights, a heartbreaking sound to be sure, but this wasn't whining. This was definitely a tail wagging kind of noise.

Acting on a growing suspicion, Bruce reached for the handle and eased the door open a crack. The thumping grew in intensity as a black nose struggled to push its way into the crack, an excited whine accompanying it.

"Shhh! Stay here, Booger," a childish whisper arose.

A smile lifted Bruce's lips and he pushed the door the rest of the way. As he suspected, Dick sat on the middle of the laundry room floor in a nest of dirty sheets, blankets and towels. He was tugging on Booger's back paws to prevent the pup from escaping out into the rest of the house. The toddler looked up at Bruce and smiled innocently, big blue eyes sparkling with happiness and just a touch of guilt.

Oh, yes, the child understood perfectly well that he wasn't supposed to be down here.

"You are supposed to be upstairs in bed, young man," Bruce scolded lightly in greeting.

He eyed the tiny, red and gold, Superman shields peppering the boy's bright blue PJ's with annoyance. Clark was trying to seal his position in the child's life again, apparently, or he did this just to irritate Bruce. The Kryptonian succeeded in the latter of his goals; it was too early yet to determine if he had succeeded in the first. He discovered he had to forcibly relax his jaw. He turned his attention back to the boy.

"Booger is lonely," Dick explained, his lower lip protruding now.

"Booger," Bruce murmured, bending down to scoop up the little, black dog, "would have fallen asleep eventually, but not with you here."

"I is lonely, too," Dickie told him, remaining in place.

"'I _was_ lonely,' and you sleep in Jason's room. You weren't lonely," Bruce reminded him.

"I _was_ lonely," the boy repeated obediently. "Jay was seeping."

Bruce sighed, trying to hold onto the squirming pup as it struggled to climb his chest and lick his face.

"Booger likes you," Dick announced as he stood up finally.

"Booger likes everybody," Bruce said, handing the puppy back to the boy. The wiggling ball of fur was an armful for the small boy, making Bruce smile. "You got him?"

"I got him," Dickie assured him.

It didn't look like it. The pup was ecstatic for the company and busy coating the child's face in saliva; it's bottom wagging along with its tail. She was sliding out of the boy's arms. Bruce sighed and propped the door open, waving the two out of the room.

"She can run around in the kitchen while I drink my coffee," he told the boy to which Dickie let the pup go. "Would you like a drink of water before you go back to bed?"

"What was coffee?" the boy asked, following Bruce to the stove.

"'What _is_ coffee?'," he corrected. "It is a drink meant to keep me awake."

"I want coffee, too," Dick told him.

"You look plenty awake to me, chum, as it is. What _you_ need is something to help you go to sleep."

Dick climbed up on the bench at the table; Booger leapt unsuccessfully, trying to follow. She fell down on the slick tile floor, only to bounce right up and attempt it again and again. Dick lay down across the bench on his stomach and reached down to help the dog up as Bruce moved to the refrigerator to pull out some milk.

"Maybe some hot chocolate might help you sleep," Bruce told him, pouring a bit of milk into a saucepan and set it over the heat to simmer. He had watched the old man making the drink often enough times, Bruce thought he had this covered.

"I like hot chocate."

"Chocolate . . ."

"Choc-o-late," Dick repeated with a nod.

Bruce glanced over to see Booger scrambling all over the kitchen table. He scooped the dog up again and set her on the floor. "Don't let Alfred catch you with Booger on the table," he warned. "He would likely tan your hide for such an infraction."

"Alfed eat me?" Dick asked worriedly.

"Oh, yes. He definitely would," Bruce assured him. "Dogs aren't allowed on the breakfast table unless you _want_ her regulated to the garage."

"Regoo . . . reg – regulated?"

"It means banished from the house," Bruce explained. "Booger wouldn't be allowed back inside anymore."

Dick bit his lip. "I no want Booger outside. I go outside with him."

"With _her_ , chum. Booger is a girl dog," he ruffled the child's hair, taking a sip of his coffee. He licked his lip. It was still too hot. "And I'm afraid that little boys belong inside houses."

"Noooo," Dickie whined. "I no _want_ Booger outside."

A sudden sizzling caught their attention, and Bruce spun around to see Dickie's milk boiling over the edge of the saucepan. He lunged for the stove, sloshing his coffee in the process. Booger bounded after him, but Bruce pushed the pup away from the danger with a foot.

"Back, Booger," he ordered brusquely, slamming his mug down onto the counter in order to better rescue the scalded milk.

"Bubbles!" Dick was jumping on the bench, clapping his hands.

Bruce removed the pan from the heat and the milk settled down immediately. He set it aside and turned off the heat. Booger had located the spilled coffee and was lapping it up eagerly.

"Great," Bruce grumbled, grabbing a hand towel. "Just what we need tonight, a puppy jacked up on caffeine."

"What happened?" Dick asked, suddenly underfoot. "I help."

Bruce shooed Dick back to the table. "Out," he ordered. "I don't want you getting burned." He bent to wipe up what was left of the coffee, shoving the pup out of his way. "Shoo, you," he muttered, taking a last swipe.

He tossed the dirty dishtowel into the sink and grabbed another to sop up the milk on the stove. "Who knew hot chocolate could be this difficult to make?" he complained.

He cursed softly under his breath when the second towel blackened against the residual heat from the burner. He slapped the towel against the sink a couple of time to prevent it from catching fire. This was nothing short of a disaster. _Cold milk will have to do_ , he decided.

"How about some chocolate milk instead?" he offered Dickie instead.

Dick nodded enthusiastically, swinging his feet, his heels pounding out a rhythm on the base of the bench seat. One of the boy's house slippers had fallen off and Booger was trying to make off with it. The slipper was too large for her to carry easily, however, and the pup lost her hold on it when she bumped into the island. She growled, rather adorably, and pounced on the offending footwear as she wrestled it into submission. Her battle coaxed a giggle from the child.

Bruce snatched up the dampened footwear, tapping the pup on its nose with it before handing it to Dickie to put back on. The boy, then, crossed his legs on the bench Indian-style in order to keep them out of the dog's reach. It didn't prevent her from trying, though, as she continued to hop against the seat in an effort to snatch one of the slippers again. Bruce ignored this as he set the glass of cold, chocolate milk in front of Dick and set down across from him.

"Thank you," Dick said, drawing out the 'th' sound carefully as he reached for his glass.

Bruce smiled. "You are most welcome, sir." He took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

The boy was beginning to make a little progress in his speech. If they couldn't change him back within the next few weeks, Bruce decided he would look into a speech therapist or a tutor in order to catch the boy up in the language department. Frowning, he turned his mind for the first time in the direction of a cover story in the event that Dick couldn't be returned to normal. Bruce couldn't risk Child Protective Services taking Dick from him in order to place him in a proper home.

Maybe, if Dick was stuck at this age, that would be better for him, but Bruce already knew in his heart that he'd never be able to let the boy go. He had failed Dick miserably in the past. He refused to do so again. He would fake the DNA tests and claim the boy as his own biological son rather than lose Dick again.

And then there was the problem of Jason . . . Bruce had taken the young teen in as his ward, but the boy had a troubled past. He needed a sense of security in his life – something more permanent that wouldn't have them jumping through CPS' hoops every three to six months. It had only been a vague idea that Bruce had considered, fleetingly, just once during the brief period that Jason had lived with him. Now, Bruce reconsidered the idea more seriously. How would Jason take it if Bruce offered to adopt him?

When Jason had agreed to come to the manor, it had been on a trial basis. The teen's ability to trust adults prevented him from agreeing to anything permanent until he had a chance to feel Bruce out first, to see if he could ' _stand living with blue bloods_ '. Jason's words, not Bruce's. So, Bruce had chosen to start out by making Jason his ward, much as Bruce had done with Dick.

But the guardian/ward relationship hadn't been as satisfying as Bruce had hoped the first time he had tried it. When Dick had gotten angry and left initially, Bruce had lamented over the fact that he had no rights left to fall back on. Dick had already turned eighteen. What their relationship was at this point was anyone's guess. Bruce didn't want the same uncertainty to mar his and Jason relationship.

If they were going to do this thing, Bruce decided while sitting there, they were going to need to do this correctly, right from the start. Jason was obviously growing fond of Dickie. Perhaps, the idea of having a younger brother to look after would sway him on the idea.

Bruce refocused his attention on the child in front of him. Dick set the glass down in front of him with a thump and a sigh, leaving a wet band of milk across his upper lip.

"Mm, that good stuff," he declared happily, channeling Jason.

"Are you ready to go back to bed now?" Bruce asked.

The boy shook his head so hard, his bangs fell into his eyes. "No!"

"Hm. No, what?"

Dickie blinked. "No way!"

Bruce growled. "No, _sir_!" he instructed.

Dick grinned. " _No way, sir_!" he shouted.

Bruce laughed even as he shushed him. "Quietly now. We don't want to wake up the whole house. Alfred would have our hides if he could see this mess we made."

"Alfed eat us?" Dick whispered.

"He just might," Bruce whispered back.

Dick's widened and he shivered dramatically. "I like when Jay-Jay eat me. It tickles! Alfed tickle, too?"

Bruce chuckled at the image in his head. "Not hardly. Come on, kiddo. It's past time for little boys to be in bed."

"Aw, I no seepy," Dick immediately complained. "Booger need me!"

Bruce washed his cup and Dick's glass, and stood staring at the two dish towels. The one was ruined. He shoved it in his pocket. He would take it down to the Batcave to get rid of it. Maybe Alfred wouldn't notice. The other he took back to the laundry room. Tossing it in the hamper, Bruce bent and rapped on the floor.

"Here, Booger! Come here, girl," he called. The puppy came scampering, tripping over her too-large paws. Dick came running after.

"Pease, Bwoose! Booger scaired," Dick pleaded.

Booger attacked Bruce's shoelaces. She didn't seem especially frightened. He set the pup onto the pile of laundry still lying there and quickly closed the door. Dick tried to shove past him to get in but Bruce kept his hand on the handle. The pup began to whine, scratching at the door.

Dick's lip jutted out as big crocodile tears shimmered on his lashes. "Noooo! Pease, Bwoose! Booger sad," he cried.

Picking the boy up, Bruce bounced him lightly on his hip. "Sh. Hush now. Booger is only whining because she hears you making a fuss."

"I sad, too. I miss Booger." Dick wept piteously.

"You can see the dog in the morning," Bruce promised, wincing. _How had Dick's parents denied him anything_? He lamented. Memories of how a certain eight-year-old had wrapped him around his finger years before made him realize how unprepared he was to deal with the same boy at three.

"Pease," Dick begged. "I seep here, Booger won't be scaired no more."

"It's ' _anymore_ ', and I'm sorry, Dickie," Bruce crooned. "You can't sleep down here by yourself."

"Booger is here," the child argued.

He tried to walk away - he really did, but Dick's cries only increased and Bruce paused by the kitchen island to shush him. The child would wake up the entire household at this rate. Alfred already got too little sleep as it was in his efforts to keep the manor running smoothly, not to mention everything the older man did to assist Batman's mission. It wouldn't be fair to expect him to take care of Dick through the night when Bruce was available. And Jason wasn't a viable option either as the older boy would likely be up for the rest of the night if Bruce tried to leave Dick in his room right now. The teen was still dealing with his own lingering nightmares brought on by his harsh past and, as a result, sleep was currently a precious commodity in the Jason's life.

The simple truth was, Dick was Bruce's responsibility, and it was one he took on gladly, even if it were inconvenient at times. If Bruce was going out on patrol, it would have been different, but as he was staying here, that meant he would either need to call it a night and take Dick to his own room, or bring the boy down to the Batcave with him while he continued working for another few hours.

It was clear that the child wasn't calming down anytime soon and, as the coffee was kicking in, sleep was out of the question for him as well. That was fine. Bruce seldom came back from patrol until three or four a.m. anyway. But, how would he keep the boy entertained while he worked? Bruce glanced behind him in the direction of the laundry room, where Booger was raising a racket, and reconsidered his options.

He caught Dickie's attention. "You have to stay right here and don't move a muscle. I don't want you to fall off the counter. Do you understand me?" he asked sternly.

Dick blinked up at him, a fat tear dripping from his lashes to wet those ridiculous Superman pajamas he was wearing. Clark was probably laughing right now about it back in Metropolis.

"Promise me?"

His lip jutting out as far as it would go, Dick sniffled and nodded. "I p-pomise," the boy choked out. Tears continued to roll down those chubby cheeks, doing their part to further crumble the billionaire's resolve.

"Don't move," he warned one last time as he backed away slowly.

When he was certain that the boy wouldn't throw himself off of the counter, Bruce darted around to open the laundry room door again. Booger tumbled out over his feet as Bruce quickly snatched up the dog's pink leash from its spot on the dryer. In the seconds he was out of sight, Dick had twisted about to lay across the counter on his stomach. His head and one hand dipped down over the edge as the pup leapt up in a fruitless effort to reach the child's fingers. She yapped in excitement, thrilled to with people again.

Dick looked up happily. "Look, Bwoose! It's Booger!"

"Yes, it is," he grumbled, bending down to scoop the dog up into one arm. He picked Dickie up in the other and gave him a look. "You have to promise me that you will behave yourself if I allow you to stay up with me."

Dickie was so ecstatic to have Booger back, he squealed as he attempted to reach for the puppy. Bruce shifted his hold to separate the two.

"I mean it, Dickie. If you cannot behave yourself, you will go straight to bed and Booger will go back to the laundry room," Bruce snapped.

Realizing that Bruce meant business, Dick stopped reaching and nodded, big-eyed. "I be good."

"I'm going to hold you to that," he told the toddler, already wondering if he was going to regret this decision.

He knew he was asking for trouble. If he had any brains left, he would have headed up to bed and tucked Dick in next to him. As it was, he headed in the direction of his study and the entrance to the cave beneath the manor.

First things first, Bruce snatched a couple of thermal blankets and pillow from the cupboard in the medical bay and spent the next several minutes creating a nest in the kneehole beneath the computer console. He might have a prayer of keeping the two confined in one space for a little while if he made it inviting enough. Dick watched his movements avidly and, no sooner did Bruce move out of the way, did the toddler crawl into the small space without any coaxing.

Dick turned around in his makeshift nest and called to Booger. Bruce released the pup where he had tied him to the leg of the evidence table and led her to Dick's cubby. Booger was distracted by all the new smells but didn't protest at the gentle tug on her leash. She crawled under the computer console without complaint, tail wagging and happy to be with her boy. When she barked, it echoed around the chamber, startling her and she backing into Dickie's lap nervously.

"You two curl up under there and rest. It's late and you both need sleep," Bruce instructed as he tugged his chair in front of the space. Neither occupant would be able to get past him without having to crawl over Bruce's feet. He had little hope at accomplishing much, what with one eye on the trouble magnets at his feet, but he had to work off that coffee he had earlier anyway.

An hour later, Bruce glanced down in alarm. He had completely forgotten the presence of Dick and the dog once he had gotten caught up with the translations again. Might they have crawled out during his distraction without his being aware of it? But no - child and pup were curled up in the blanket at his feet sound asleep.

He breathed out a sigh of relief.

His relief, however, was short-lived. The whine of the zeta-tube caught his attention. He used voice command to dim the lights as he turned to face his visitor. Not many had the access codes to come here. Those who did already knew his identity, but should they bring another with them, as had Constantine and Zatara the previous night, his secret might be exposed to an untrustworthy source.

He stood, leaving the chair in place to hide Dick and the pup from view, placing himself between them and whoever was stepping through the portal.

"Good. I was afraid I wouldn't find you here," a familiar voice spoke before the light had dimmed enough that Bruce could make out its owner.

He blinked, but shouldn't have been surprised. He had, in fact, asked for her help.

"Diana," he greeted, shifting out of his defensive stance. "Do you have information for me?"

Wonder Woman stepped off the platform, her armor making soft creaking noises as she crossed the distance to face him. "You need to change," she told him. "Zeus wishes to speak to you directly."

"Zeus? He couldn't have simply told you what we needed to know?" Bruce frowned.

She raised an eyebrow. She hadn't expected him to balk at the request. "He asked that you bring the box and anything it contained with you."

Bruce sighed. "Fine, I will need to call Alfred," he said, turning back to call the man through the intercom system. His mind raced with alternative plans. He couldn't leave Dick here unguarded.

"There's no time. We must hurry," she told him, moving toward the table where the box and the geode was displayed.

Bruce moved the chair away and waved a hand at the space revealed. "I'm not down here alone, Diana. I cannot just run off."

She stopped and glanced at the kneehole's contents, her features softening at the sight of the child and puppy cuddled together. Her blue eyes flashed mischievously as she considered the problem.

"Bring them with you," Diana blurted abruptly. "I am certain Zeus will be requesting to see the child eventually, anyway."

"To Mount Olympus?" Bruce stared at her. "Is it safe?"

"Of course," she said. "I give you my word that no harm would come to Dick while there. I will protect him with my life."

He wasn't convinced. "They only just fell asleep an hour ago, Diana. Dick is sure to be whiny and irritable and, then, there is the problem of the dog. It's too dangerous for her to be left in the cave unattended."

"Bring them both," she repeated. "Bruce, this is Mount Olympus, the sanctuary of the gods. The environment will refresh them and, if necessary, we can provide them with something to eat."

"I don't know, Di. At this age, Dick can be a picky eater," he warned. The Gray Woman was trouble enough. He didn't want the child around yet more gods after what had been done to him already.

She raised an eyebrow. "It's the food of the gods. I'm certain he would like anything they gave him."

"But would it be safe for him? What reaction would a mortal child have if he ate something that was meant for immortals? He could have an allergic reaction, Diana," Bruce argued.

She stared at him. "You're jesting?"

"It's a reasonable concern," he told her.

She shrugged lightly. "It is the home of the gods. It stands to reason that if one could be energized while in their presence, then their food would do its part to restore one's health."

"Hm, you'll excuse me if I decide to err on the side of caution," Bruce grumbled before a stray thought crossed his mind. "Diana, is it possible that Zeus would be able to return Dick to his true age and form? Return his memories to him?"

"We can request a boon, although be warned. Zeus might request a favor of you or the boy in return," she told him.

Bruce frowned, nodding his understanding. He would play this by ear.

"Go on and change," Diana said. "I will watch over them until you return."

It was the chance to find more answers. Bruce was just as aware of the passage of time as he had been this morning. The Gray Woman's visit was still fresh in his mind as was her threats. But the danger was not only to Dick but that of the earth and possibly the universe itself.

Bruce nodded, his gaze flickering to the child briefly before he spun on his heel and headed toward the changing area. If they were lucky, this trip could provide them with the means to stop Dal 'Riata and, hopefully, be back before breakfast.

Certainly, the king of the gods would know how to defeat another god . . .

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Don't keep me in suspense! I've been in withdrawal for months now.**


	19. The Death of Oa

**Good News and Bad News: The good news is chapter 19 is up and ready for you; the bad news is that my online class is not finished. Alas, the subject is more difficult during the second half, and it is important that I understand it inside and out, so I must take my time. But, I have not forgotten you or this story, and I work on it when I get a few minutes and my mind is not mush (this happens far more often than I would like). I cannot say when I will be able to get the next chapter out to you, but I promise that as soon as it is done, you'll be the first to see it.**

 **In the meantime, enjoy . . . I've missed you (and the reviews!), so don't forget to leave me a line to let me know what you think. What we have here is a brief glimpse into what Dal 'Riata Abn'La has been up to when she is not frightening our boy.**

 **WARNING: Language, Death Imagery, and Disturbing Content.**

* * *

"Good of you to make it," Hal Jordan greeted his fellow Lanterns.

John Stewart flew to a stop in front of him. "It wasn't as if you gave us a choice. What's the emergency?"

"Is this in connection to Sil Megangi and Beeg-Gar's deaths?" Guy Gardner asked. He and Kyle Rayner hovered just beyond Stewart's shoulder.

Behind them, space was obscured by nearly twelve hundred Green Lanterns from every corner of the universe. Hal nodded, confirming what they all had hoped to hear, but from the grim expression, he wasn't bringing them welcome news. Neither did the sight of so many of their brethren quash the feeling of dread that was balled in Jordan's stomach.

John glanced around, his ring providing confirmation of their location. "This is very near Sil's side of the quadrant."

"Yes, it is," Hal murmured. "Sil and Beeg-Gar's quadrant was destroyed . . . All of it. The one responsible has set her sights here next."

John gaped at him, disbelieving. "The entire quadrant? That's impossible!"

"It is one of the reasons that Sil's ring didn't choose a successor," Hal told them. "Nothing remains . . . not even the ring. Now, a second quadrant, _this_ quadrant, is in danger of falling to the same fate as the other."

"And you thought to bring all of Oa in to handle this?" Guy asked, scowling. _Time for a little payback_ , he thought, slamming his fist into his palm. He was more than ready for a little revenge on behalf of their brethren.

"I can only hope all of Oa will be enough," Hal admitted, gesturing. "I arrived only to realize this was beyond the scope of a mere squad. Anything that can destroy an entire quadrant and two Lanterns needs serious firepower. The people of this quadrant's only hope is if we bring the entirety of Oa and the Green Lantern Corps down to bear on it."

Guy obviously didn't agree. "A little overkill, in my opinion. You're leaving the entire rest of the universe vulnerable by dragging all of us here."

Hal swung about, his face savage. "We're talking about the deaths of untold trillions and two Lanterns, Guy! If it is overkill, I think this enemy has it coming."

"Easy," John waved his hand in an effort to keep the peace. "We're not the enemy here. You're right. There is something heavy going down here and we'd do well to go into this in force."

Kyle spoke up for the first time. "So, what's the call? You've brought every Lantern alive running. How do you want to do this?"

Hal visibly reigned in his anger. That the emotion was fueled as much by fear as it was by his need for retribution, he kept to himself. Hal wasn't afraid of much and, as a Green Lantern, he usually could quash the feeling in order to do what needed to be done, but this . . . The fear was insidious. It crept beneath his skin and infiltrated his blood, flooding his mind. He had to turn it to something else if he wanted to continue functioning, otherwise, he worried that he might end up running from this particular fight . . . and that was unacceptable to him.

Whatever this thing was, he knew in his bones it wouldn't stop here. It would follow him, destroying everything in its wake, and he couldn't live with that. Hal waved a hand to bring up a greatly condensed version of the quadrant. The size of it was still smaller than the other men knew the quadrant to be.

"The power is concentrated here," he said as his ring lit up the area, "and moving in this direction."

"What about the rest of the quadrant?" Kyle asked. "Are they not in danger as well?"

"The rest of the quadrant is gone, Kyle," Hal said, suppressing the shudder that threatened to wrack his frame. "There is nothing left at all, just like in Sil's and Beeg-Gar's quadrant."

"Do you mean like dead planets or empty space," Guy asked, frowning.

"I mean, like _nothing_ ," Hal snapped. "Look, I can't describe it, but you can't enter it. And, trust me, you wouldn't want to." Turning to the area in front of him, Hal pointed. "If we split our resources to flank it, here and here, and another from beneath," he said, pointing to areas near the blank, "we can prevent its escape and perhaps keep it contained. I'll bring the majority of our forces in for a frontal attack, swooping in this way."

"We'll need to come in from above this position as well as below it," John murmured.

"I'll have Salakk take a contingency and come in from above," Hal agreed.

Guy nodded. "Right. I'll take ShebahK-ahn, Sool, and Urr, and we'll take this area here," he said, pointing to the left flank. "This thing won't stand a chance."

Kyle waved to several more Lanterns. "Hannu, Iolande, Veth Sarn, and I will take a group from below its position."

"I'll grab Wuchniz, Larvox, and Gramblett, and come in from the other side," John told them. "Do the Guardians know anything about what we're facing?"

Hal shook his head. "They talk of rumors and fairy tales. They know as little as we do."

"Rumors and fairy tales from the Guardians isn't something to sneer at. Could be some valuable information in there," John told him.

"The death of everything?" Hal sneered. "If that was the case, we might as well lie down and take it."

John grunted. "Huh, good point. So, when do you want to begin?"

"Now. This thing stops here," Hal snarled, slamming his fist into his palm. "The longer we wait, the more people will die. Head out." He glanced behind him at more of his fellow guardians. "Kilowag, you're with me."

"Ah, now why would you go and do that?" His old friend flew to meet him. "I wanted to have a hand at death myself."

"You'll get your chance, but I have seen the destruction and it is complete. I worry at the number of our fellow Lanterns who will fall before this battle is done." Hal spoke softly. He didn't want his words being overheard.

"We fall and then we rise up from the ashes." Kilowag stated. "We've done it before."

"Kilowag," Hal stopped him from joining the ranks. "Do you feel it?"

"I don't know of what you speak, human." But, it was there, in his eyes. Hal saw it.

"Parallax is contained still, correct? I mean, it couldn't have escaped to possess this creature, could it?"

Kilowag sighed. He understood what Hal was asking. "I feel it as well. But, I swear to you, that Parallax has not escaped. Could this being be a Black Lantern returned? If it deals in death as you say . . ."

"It might have been, except that the Black Lanterns only destroyed life, not the dead planets themselves as this thing has. It is indescribable, what I have seen." Hal admitted.

"Get control of your fear, Jordon," Kilowag warned. "It weakens you."

"Not if I can help it," Hal growled. "It is time. Send them in, old friend."

"As you say, old friend," Kilowag turned, using his ring to send out a signal that would reach even the farthest Lanterns.

They had only just rebuilt the Corps for the umpteenth time. Barely a fraction of the strength it had been at its birth, they were still twelve hundred strong. Twelve hundred of the strongest wills in the galaxy coming to bear upon one being of unimaginable strength. It would be enough.

But, that insipid fear whispered in the back of his mind, questioning this belief. It would be enough, he assured himself. It had to be, or God help the rest of the universe.

* * *

It should have been him. After all, Hal had been leading the attack. He had been near the front, the closest to her, not that it made any difference other than giving him the best view of what had happened next. It had happened so fast, and yet, for Hal Jordan, it felt like everything moved in slow motion.

 _Is this what Barry experienced on an ordinary day_?

The army of Green Lanterns all fired on the being simultaneously. Bolts of green lightning, one of the most powerful energy sources in the universe, struck her and the being had disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

 _We've got her_ , Hal had thought triumphantly. _We've saved the remaining lives from the decimated quadrant_. The jubilant feeling had lasted all of three entire seconds before he noticed the color of the light was changing. Brilliant green began fading to gray at the target.

"More power," he had yelled unnecessarily.

The Corps knew what they were doing. They saw the same thing that he did. All twelve hundred Lanterns shoved every ounce of their will into their rings. Hal's ring began to feel hot. Had it ever done that before? He didn't think so, couldn't remember a time. Sweat slid down his forehead, dripping into his eyes, but he didn't stop. Instead, he pressed harder. They had to stop it - her, that thing. Too many were depending on them, and who knew where her destruction would end otherwise.

But, the gray remained and began to expand. It followed the path of the rings' energy, traveling the distance to reach the rings themselves.

"No! No, no, no, no," Hal snarled past gritted teeth. "Stop! Pull back!"

The gray didn't stop, however. It didn't matter that the Lanterns were retreating. The gray continued, leaping the remaining distance to the rings.

You weren't supposed to hear screams through the vacuum of space. It was the power of the rings that protected them from the near absolute zero temperature of empty space, the power of the rings that enabled them to breath and speak and hear each other. It was the power of his ring that allowed him to hear all twelve hundred of his fellow Green Lanterns as they died the most horrifying death imaginable, and he seemed to feel every single one of them in the depths his soul.

John, Kyle, and Guy . . . Kilowag, Iolande, Sool, Larvox, and the others, all gone in seconds that had felt like an eternity. Only Hal remained, gaping in shock. He spun around in hopes that another had survived, someone – _anyone_!

Silence greeted him. No one remained to hear his own scream of horror, anger, and grief.

No one but _her_ . . .

The fear was back. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Hal's first thought was that he should have heeded it, but then where would the remaining citizens of the quadrant have been? His eyes sought the nearby world of Zerachon, but it wasn't there. He blinked. Could he have gotten turned around somehow when the light flashed? He searched out Zera-9761, Zerachon's sun. Its light should have been the brightest thing in the blackness of space, but it too, was missing.

Hal spun around, searching every direction, but not only could he not find Zera-9761 or its single planet, but _every_ star seemed to have disappeared!

"My God!" he gasped. "Ring, where are we?" Maybe he had been transported. Maybe Zera-9761 and its planet still existed elsewhere. Perhaps the Corps, too . . . But no, he had witnessed their deaths. Not even their corpses remained.

" _Without stars, it is impossible to compute_ " the ring announced. " _Last known location was the Zera System in Quadrant 6247_."

He knew the answer, but he asked it anyway. "Were we transported somehow?"

" _No teleportation has taken place_."

He thought not. The fear tightened into the size of a cannonball in his gut. "Analysis of residual energy?"

" _No residual energy detected_."

Hal gaped at his ring. "You're kidding, right? Every energy leaves behind some trace . . .""

" _The ring is unable to produce emotional responses such as humor. No residual energy is detected_ ," it repeated.

"What about radiation? The destruction of a star . . ."

" _No radiation can be detected._ "

"I thought that's what you might say," he thought dejectedly. "Analysis of the gray energy source that destroyed the . . . the . . ." Hal glanced around him, ". . . Everything."

" _Unable to comply. Energy is unknown_."

"But, the source is right in front of us. You can tell nothing?" Hal frowned.

" _Energy source approaching. Ring cannot protect the bearer. Suggest strategic retreat from threat_ ," the ring stated.

Retreat? It was too late for that. "Retreat to where? Oa?" He didn't even know where Oa was in relation to his current position without the stars to give him his bearings.

A chill ran up his spine, like the cold fingers of death, and he shivered. It-She . . . Whatever she was, was behind him. Dread engulfed him, making his heart pound in his chest like a jackhammer. A hand clutched his chest as if that might somehow prevent the organ from bursting out of his body.

The Corps was destroyed! He would welcome death.

" **Oa is no more."**

The voice was like a presence, an entity in and of itself. He could feel the vibrations of it inside of his body, his head. Hal prepared to face his demise, a hand gripping his forehead in an attempt to keep his brains inside. Each syllable felt like a sledgehammer to the inside of his skull. He spun around and attempted to put a little distance between them, not that distance appeared to make a difference to her power.

 _Oa gone_? The planet wasn't even near this quadrant? Was she lying? _She had to be_!

"Ring?"

" _Oa is no longer detectible within the known universe."_

"Could it have been transported to another dimension?" he asked, shaken. How the hell could she have done this? Oa was more than two-hundred and fifty thousand lightyears from his position!

" _The power required to transport Oa to another dimension is immeasurable,"_ the ring stated.

"It's been done before," Hal argued with it, "with other targets, even a planet."

" _Previously recorded incidents required the assistance of natural phenomena in addition to an immense power source to accomplish. No natural rifts can be detected in the vicinity of Oa's last known position,"_ the ring explained.

It was ridiculous, questioning the ring like this. Hal knew – He _knew_ – that Oa was gone like the two quadrants were gone . . . like his fellow Lanterns were . . . gone. But how? How could this being harbor so much power so effortlessly. The ring had said it. Immeasurable power. And, she had wielded it not only here, but in a place hundreds of thousands of lightyears from where she was. He couldn't help but wonder if she had done this with pinpoint precision or if she had just wiped out everything between their location and the space that Oa had last occupied.

His confusion and disbelief were quickly overwhelmed at the approach of her. He retreated in an effort to keep some bit of distance between them which was laughable when he thought about it. The woman, if one could call her that, had just wiped out trillions of systems in thousands of galaxies without a speck of dust remaining – his ring couldn't even register a trace of residual radiation left behind. It was as if they had never existed.

"W-Who are you?" The feeling of terror was foreign to him before this encounter, but it was beginning to feel disturbingly normal to him, like he would never again breathe without feeling afraid . . . of _her_.

 **You are human,"** she said.

Feathers? Gold and yellow eyes in gray skin . . .

"Why am _I_ still alive?" Hal demanded. It came out as a whimper. The eyes were more alien than any he had ever seen, devoid of compassion, of mercy, and yet . . . he lived.

" **To tell him . . . I come."**

" _Him_? Him who?" he asked.

" **You will know."** Her strange eyes flickered down at his hand.

Hal followed her line of sight to his ring. He didn't need to be told. The ring was dying, like everything else around her; it's battery was nearly depleted. He'd never make it back to tell anyone anything. He would die out here like his fellow Lanterns.

Suddenly, the distance between them had somehow evaporated and she was there in front of him. _When had she moved_? Reaching out, the creature touched one talon to Hal's ring and the green glow faltered, the last of its power leeched away only to be replaced by an odd, dim light: gray, like her. Hal reeled back, terrified that he, too, was about to crumble into dust and nothingness. The green in his costume faded to a lifeless gray but, thankfully, Hal's skin remained unaffected.

It was all he could do not to rip the ring from his finger. He paused, however. Common sense told him he would die if he took the ring off, but if he died, who would be left to warn the League? Only the Justice League was left to stand between the witch and the death of the universe, but could the League succeed where the Green Lantern Corps had failed? Could anything stop her?

His jaw clenched in determination. They had stopped the Anti-Monitor when it had come, intent on destroying the universe. But she? It? Whatever she was . . . It was the first time that Hal thought the end of their universe might happen – might honestly occur – and, there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

No! He couldn't think this way. The League had stopped the Anti-Monitor. They would stop this creature, too. They had to. The only other choice was to die, and that, Hal determined, was no choice at all.

"We'll stop you," Hal ground out, but his bravado was short-lived and faltered under that alien stare. Those cold, merciless, golden eyes flashed at him – amused?

" **You may try,"** she said, her powerful voice rumbled over him, sending terror spiking in his veins.

"I-I don't understand. Why are y-you doing this?"

There was no malice in the being that Hal could sense, only . . . resolution. The fear he felt was part and parcel to what it was but, somehow, he knew it wasn't inherently evil . . . It was – He shook his head, unable to find a suitable term. It just _was_.

" **Go,"** she commanded him. **"Gather your armies . . . For I come."**

To his everlasting shame, he did.

* * *

She watched him flee.

The human didn't know where he was going. Without the stars to guide him, he would be lost, but she had placed the way within the ring that would lead him back to the tiny planet – earth. The power she had granted the device he wore would take him to his destination before it found its own end.

She had seldom ever taken the time to destroy a universe so slowly before. Never had she bothered to walk upon creation's shores, to gaze upon that which the Creator had wrought. It had not been her task to admire the beauty of it, only to wipe it from existence as if it had never been.

It was not as if she hadn't recognized the beauty found in creation's order; she just hadn't . . . what was the word? Innumerable languages were instantly at her fingertips, languages she had never bothered with, but were available to her with a mere thought. She settled on the one language she had actually used but found it lacking. Nonetheless, she decided on one word that almost reflected what she felt: cared. She had never _cared_ before.

The word couldn't begin to encompass what was within her, however. Language, any language, was far too paltry to be in any way effective at communication on her level, but it would do for now despite the misplaced connotation it provided.

She had no emotional attachment toward anything beyond the results of her completed task. Only there did she receive a certain amount of . . . satisfaction. She felt, of course, for her counterparts. They were she, however, and she was a part of Them. Four in One, despite her solitude.

Her lips quirked in that oddity, in _amusement_. The Others were more social than she. The Others rejoiced in creating and, sometimes, even associating with that which They had made. But, there was an end to everything, and the task was hers to bear. While the Others found an enjoyment of sorts in the company of specially-created beings, ones that flitted about with duties to perform and worship of Those who made them, she choice not to bother with things that were so fleeting. To what purpose, she had asked? The Others had turned away, back to Their own tasks while she had resumed hers.

Until now . . .

The Others were companion enough, should she wish it. Or, she could take some of the beings to keep her company, but they had never interested her before. Created creatures themselves, they were practically eternal, their job to minister to Them. 'Angels' was the English term for them.

So, why then did she now feel this unusual affinity to a creature weak and pathetic and transient. He was ephemeral and fleeting, not even a blink in the annals of time, and she was beyond time. But, she had the ability to grant him longevity. This was not something that she had ever done, but then, neither had she ever bothered to walk on a planet within a universe that was scheduled for destruction. Nor, had she ever allowed herself to be contained.

The idea itself was - What was the word for it? Ludicrous. But, she had allowed for it, nonetheless.

It had been _different_. The Others enjoyed creating different, but her eternal existence had always and forever been the same. Now, too, she was experimenting in the different: taking apart a universe piece by piece, for instance. Or, choosing to grant longevity to one who was mortal, to be a companion to her. Although, she still did not require or crave worship for herself, company might be something _different_. Her Night-Wing was not suited to this existence, but she could make it so that he could be.

Let the Others have their myriad of angels.

She would settle for her one, her Night-Wing.

* * *

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	20. Trouble in Paradise

**Surprise! I'm ba-a-ack! It wasn't quite as long of a wait for a new chapter as last time. In this chapter the journey they take to reach Olympus, we discover, must go through Wonder Woman's island home. There's trouble in paradise, however.**

 **Warnings: Language . . .**

* * *

"We could have taken the Batplane, you know," Batman told her an hour later.

He shifted Dickie's position onto his other shoulder. The boy was out cold. Zeus was waiting, and he was anxious to speak to the head of the Greek pantheon. If anyone had a chance against the Gray Woman, it would be another god.

He glanced over at Diana, the pup snored softly where it lay while she piloted the plane over the vast Atlantic. Booger had been too sleepy to give Diana the kind of enthusiastic greeting she might have normally, sparing the heroine a tongue-bath.

"We could have, but this way we don't annoy the inhabitants any more than necessary with a reminder that I brought men to Themyscira." One of Diana's hands continued to sweep over the pup's soft fur lazily while she piloted with the other.

"Is there another way to reach Olympus besides going to Themyscira?" he asked. He preferred to avoid a scene while Dickie was with them. "Will you get into trouble for this?"

"Leave that to me," she assured him. Her gaze dropped to the boy for a few seconds, softening at the sight. "This is the easiest and quickest method; it is also the safest route. As for trouble, any who oppose our passing through can take it up with Zeus."

Batman nodded. He could live with that. "How do we get to Olympus once we reach the island?"

"We'll be getting a god-assist," Diana explained. "Normally, I could fly there, but I cannot do that if I bring the three of you."

"How so? If we could fly there, it would save a lot of time and trouble."

"I don't fly there with the jet. There is a barrier between earth and the gods, like the barrier that protects Themyscira from the outside world, but it is one that mortals aren't allowed to pass." She glanced at him. "What we're doing, Bruce, it's a big deal. The last mortal to travel to Olympus was Hercules."

Batman frowned. "I thought Hercules was a demigod."

She nodded. "He is, but he was also mortal at the time."

"He traveled there from Themyscira?"

"No, but the way he went was fraught with dangers as well," she explained. "Themyscira is . . ."

"Only an island filled with women warriors with a dislike and distrust of men," Batman added with a touch of sarcasm. "I'm fairly certain that you've noticed that Dick and I aren't female."

She smirked at him. "I noticed."

"If the Amazons take exception to our presence, would they harm the boy?" he asked, concerned.

"Of course not. He is but a child. Amazons do not harm children," Diana told him with a bit of bite to her voice. "Bruce, I only insisted he come with us now because I'm certain he would have been summoned as well. This will be less frightening for him, going there with us, than if Hermes showed up in his bedroom," Diana assured him.

She had a point. Dick already had one experience with a god showing up in his room in the middle of the night. "Can you honestly tell me that Zeus will be willing to return him to his proper age?"

"We won't know until we ask," she said, "but I believe there is a good possibility that he will. Zeus won't like admitting there might be gods who are more powerful than he is. Helping Dick will appeal to his ego."

"And Dick's memories? Will he be able to restore them?"

Wonder Woman frowned as she considered it. "I don't know," she answered truthfully.

"What good will it be for Dick to be returned to his real age if he is still missing his memories? What if his mind remains that of a toddler, Di? If he cannot return Dick's memories to him, returning him to a nineteen-year-old would be cruel," Batman snapped.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. There is a good chance that when we leave Olympus, Dick will be back to normal again," she said.

"But, at what cost?" he murmured, more to himself than Diana.

If she heard him this time, she did not answer, but they were both aware that there were hardly any instances where a god granted a boon to a mortal without exacting a price that must be paid. In fact, he couldn't think of any instance where mercy was granted for free. He was willing to pay any price, but he could only hope nothing would be expected of the boy himself. If he knew of another way to reverse this, Dick would not be here now.

Batman fell silent as his mind wandered over the possible outcomes of this trip. Should Dick be restored, would he retain any memory of his time as a toddler or if this experience would be stripped from him as well. Either way, the problems between them would continue to exist. As anxious as he was for Dick get back his age and his memories, Bruce couldn't help but worry that Dick would reject him the moment he did. If so, Bruce wouldn't even have cause to complain after that debacle in the cave a month ago. In as little as a couple of hours, he could just as easily lose Dick as he would should the Gray Woman return to take the boy away from him.

* * *

Wonder Woman brought the jet to rest on the beach that surrounded the island paradise. The city lay atop the cliffs that lined the shore. Normally, she kept the plane atop a grassy plateau just beyond the city, but everyone would see them arrive there. Here, she might be able to lead them to the temple without anyone being the wiser. Men on Themyscira would not go over well, should they be spotted, but this was still the safest path for two mortals to take. As it was, they would require assistance from the gods for the ascension. They only needed to avoid the guard.

She leapt down, turning back to grab Booger, setting the dog on the ground at her feet. The puppy yawned and stretched before putting its nose to the ground and taking in all the wonderful, new smells. Satisfied that the pup wasn't going to wander off, Diana turned back to her human guests.

"Are you certain you want to do this?"

Diana tilted her head. "I've never seen you this unsure of yourself before. While it's a novel experience, it's unwelcome at this stage."

"Don't get used to it," he replied dryly. "We need your gods' help in combating the Gray Woman. I'll do whatever is required of me, but this is your home, Diana."

"It is," she agreed. "But, I have an idea that will help should we run into anyone. I doubt you're going to like it, however. Will you trust me a little while longer?"

"I trust you as much as I do anyone, Diana," he said.

Her heart was warmed by this. This man did not trust lightly, and while she wasn't so foolish to believe that his trust was unconditional, she knew that he would follow her lead here unquestioningly.

He was preparing to hand Dickie down to her when Booger began barking at the shadows. The little black dog practically blended into the darkness. Wonder Woman held up a hand to keep Batman from disembarking as Dickie lifted his head sleepily, blinking.

"Damn. I hoped to avoid this," she muttered she moved to intercept the intruder.

"Booger?" he asked, leaning a little to the side to see his dog.

"Sh, Dickie. She's right here," Batman crooned quietly. He wasn't ready for their visitor to realize he and the boy were here. Perhaps, Diana could still rescue the situation.

"Princess?" A shaped appeared at the base of the cliff, on the steps cut into the stone that led to the city above. "What do you here?"

Dick twisted about with a small gasp. He gripped Batman's cape in tight, little fists, frightened at the appearance of a woman emerging from the shadows.

"Fear not, child," Wonder Woman call back over her shoulder, then addressed the guard. She recognized the sister who met them. "Stand down, Penelope."

"Who is that with you?" the guard asked, seeing the shapes crouched on the wing of the invisible jet. "Is that a man?" Disbelief and Shock could be heard in her voice. Coming forward, Penelope's bow was suddenly in her hand, an arrow notched.

"Zeus requested their presence," Diana explained. "I escort them to the temple."

Batman had palmed a batarang at the guard's appearance. While he might trust Wonder Woman, the Amazonian guard point an arrow in their direction. "Lower your weapon," he commanded. "There is a child present."

Penelope scowled at him. She lowered the weapon slightly but didn't put it away. She ignored him in favor of her princess.

"What has that to do with Amazons?" Penelope asked Diana. "You know better than any of us that men are forbidden."

"It is not for you to question the will of the gods," Diana reminded her.

"I am the only man present," Batman told the guard. "The boy is but a child. He is an innocent in this."

Penelope finally looked at the man in the cowl and cape, neither intimidated nor impressed by his appearance. "No man is innocent," she snapped in derision, "Not even a man-child, and neither is permitted to step foot on Themyscira. Something that a princess of Themyscira should understand."

Diana faced her sister. "No laws have been broken yet. Neither the man nor child has touched Amazonian soil."

Penelope pursed her lips. "So, what are you proposing? Do you mean to carry them both to the portal?"

Diana glanced at her guest with a sly smile. As usual, Batman remained as unreadable as ever. "I will do whatever is necessary to get them where they need to be."

Penelope stepped back, turning. "I must alert our queen about this violation."

Diana sighed. "You do what you must, Penelope . . . As will I."

Once the guard disappeared, Batman slid his batarang back into his belt. Dick was wide awake now, squinting at the alien world around him. "Where here?"

"We're just passing through, Dickie," he told the boy.

"Is it water?" Dick stared wide-eyed at the waves crashing against the shore, their white foam glinting in the moonlight. "Want down! Want see water!" he squirmed excitedly.

"I'm sorry, son. Not tonight. We have someplace to be," Bruce said as he tightened his grip. He looked down at Wonder Woman below him. "So, how do you want to do this?"

Diana smiled up at him and held out her arms. "Jump!"

He hesitated. "You're going to carry _both_ of us?"

"You know very well I'm quite capable of it." She was grinning now. When he didn't comply immediately, she laughed. "We're wasting time."

With a sigh of long-suffering, Batman shifted Dick in his arms. "This stays on the island," he muttered.

Chuckling, Diana took a step forward. "I'll catch you," she promised.

"Fine," he grumbled and stepped off the wing, trusting the Amazon to do just that.

She adjusted her grip and grinned down at the Caped Crusader she cradled in her arms. "Comfy?"

He grunted. "Will the cape get in your way?" he asked.

"It's fine," she assured him. It had flown outward and hung over the back of her arm. It would drag the ground but at least it was out of the way of her feet.

Dickie sat upright on Bruce's stomach. "Wanna walk," he complained. "Where Booger?"

Diana looked a little surprised. "Booger? Did he just call the dog . . .?" This was the first time she had heard the dog's name.

"We tried to talk him out of it, but Dick's always been stubborn," he said. "You cannot get down yet, Dickie, so sit still while Wonder Woman is carrying us."

"Want Booger!"

"Diana cannot carry both of us and Booger, too," Bruce told him. "The dog will follow us."

"Well, technically, I could," Diana murmured, softly. Bruce flashed her a look that told her to keep quiet. "But, it would be difficult," she added quickly. "Not to worry, little one. She can follow me easily enough."

Booger seemed to understand that she was under discussion. She barked at Dickie, wagging her tail so hard her rump wiggled with it. Wonder Woman smiled at the little dog, and as predicted, when she started up the steps that led to the city above the beach, the pup immediately followed. As Dick squirmed around to look back over Diana's shoulder, he accidentally kneed Bruce in the process. Bruce bit back a groan but didn't reprimand the worried child.

"Are you terribly uncomfortable?" she asked sympathetically.

"Only my pride," Bruce muttered dryly. "The faster we get through this the better."

Unfortunately, if they didn't want to leave the pup behind, she couldn't go any faster than they were. She tried not to smile as her passenger's long-suffering sigh. The length Batman was willing to go to accommodate the boy only increased her respect for the man.

Once she had thought he was unknowable, but the little she had learned about him just in the last day made her reevaluate her colleague and friend. That he rose in her assessment was a high compliment. Before this crisis, she had worried about young Robin's emotional well-being being raised by such a cold man, but the man beneath the cowl wasn't as aloof as she had previously supposed.

Or, had this misfortune that had befallen his young comrade made him realize his past mistakes? Whichever theory was true, it only proved that even in the darkest situations, one could find a gleam of light. Some might call it 'hope' . . . Diana smirked as the child twisted another way in order to keep his pup in sight, but she decided a better name for that glimmer in the darkness was Dick Grayson.

* * *

As Diana walked through the cobbled streets, Amazons moved out of the surrounding buildings and homes to watch the unusual procession. When the small group passed by, the women moved in behind them, following. The dog was easily distracted by what it perceived to be new friends and ran to from one warrior to another, to this woman then on to that one as the Amazons came, being pulled their posts or from their beds.

Dick would call to the pup every few steps, wanting desperately to get down and chase after the dog. It was all the boy could do to remain perched where he was. Batman kept one cautious hand on the waistband of the child's pajama bottoms to prevent him from either leaping off or tumbling down. They wished to avoid any more confrontations.

Batman was a little surprised that no one else had tried to stop them, however, that only lasted until they were but a few yards from their destination. It wasn't difficult spotting Diana's mother, the Amazonian queen, as she stepped in their path. She was flanked on either side by two warriors that stood head and shoulders above Wonder Woman and, quite likely, himself.

"Mother," Diana greeted.

Queen Hippolyta scowled at her daughter's guests. "I had to see for myself," she said. "I didn't believe Penelope when she claimed that you had defied our laws by bringing men to our island."

Diana stiffened, straightening her shoulders and adjusting her passengers in her arms. "The law states that no man may step foot on Amazonian soil," she recited. "And, so far, no man has."

"You think that you can belittle the law? You have broken the spirit of it, if not the letter." Hippolyta declared.

"I am following the dictates of Zeus himself, Mother. He wishes an audience with the man and his son. They are both mortals, however. There are few ways into Olympus for mortals that won't endanger them. Themyscira has one such path. I deemed it the safest of the choices." Diana explained.

Hippolyta narrowed her eyes. "Safe only because of your presence."

Diana nodded her head. "Yes," she agreed, "although, it is only because none of my sisters have chosen to challenge me thus far. Had they done so, I would have found it necessary to set Batman and his child down, so you may thank my sisters for their cooperation."

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated," Hippolyta snapped. "What other unpleasant traits has the world of men taught you?"

Diana bowed her head, contrite. "Sarcasm was not my intent, my queen."

Hippolyta stepped closer to consider the man content to be resting in her daughter's arms. He and the child were the first to come to their island since that unfortunate pilot had washed up on their shores all those years before. That one had enticed Diana to turn her back upon her mother and her home to venture out into the wider world.

Before that, several millennia had come and gone since Heracles had come here to steal her belt. Mythology claimed the demi-god had killed her for it, but that was an obvious falsehood. The truth of it was simply that she had given the belt to Heracles to prevent a war she had not been certain that she and her sisters could have won. They had managed to avoid bloodshed that day despite the meddling of Hera in the affairs of the Amazons, all over Hera's bitterness as the result of her husband's many infidelities.

Trouble always followed the coming of men. What would be the consequences of this visit? She took it as an omen of some future disaster, but she would not be left unprepared.

"What calamity has brought you to the attention of the gods, foolish mortal?" Hippolyta asked him.

"Someone is coming," Batman warned. It was probable that the Amazons would be called to join their ranks and he hoped that honesty would ease the path to a truce between Amazonian queen and the world of men. "Someone that threatens the very existence of the universe, including the denizens of Olympus as well as Themyscira."

Hippolyta raised a skeptical brow, glancing at her daughter for confirmation. "What threat is this?"

"We've been calling her the Gray Woman," Diana told her.

The queen wasn't impressed. "And, why should this concern the gods?"

"We have reason to believe the Gray Woman would endanger all of us, including the gods," Batman said.

Frowning, Hippolyta's eyes swept over the boy. Dick had settled at the approach of the queen, staring at the regal woman in curiosity.

"You peety," he declared after a moment. "You got bwown eyes like Booger."

"Pretty, Dickie," Batman corrected automatically. "Prrretty."

Hippolyta's gaze softened at the innocent observation for a moment before it hardened again. She narrowed her eyes. "Of what part does this child play in all of this?"

"He has met the threat," Diana explained. "She has some link to him that we don't understand yet, but we believe he might have answers to some of our questions hidden away in his memories – memories that this Gray Goddess has stripped from him."

"A goddess, is she? And, you hope that Zeus can restore the boy's memories?" Hippolyta asked as she considered the child with new interest. "What are the chances that a child holds the secrets that could save the universe?"

"It is yet unknown," Diana admitted, "it is important that we be sure."

Dick was currently stretching to see something behind them. One of the women had picked up a small, black dog. It was excitedly trying lick her in the face.

"And the dog? Of what use is the beast on your mission to Olympus?" Hippolyta asked. "It is too young to be for protection. It has yet to be trained."

Dick held his arms out. "Want Booger, pease?"

The queen blinked, confused. "Booger? What is this?"

"The pup was a gift. We brought it along to keep the boy amused," Diana told her. Her lips twitched at the ridiculous name.

Hippolyta scowled. "Booger is not a proper name for so noble an animal," she instructed the child.

Dickie bit his lip. "Who you?"

"My name is Hippolyta," she said, not unkindly. "I am the queen of the Amazons. The woman carrying you is my daughter."

Dick smiled, eyes twinkling. "Hippo!"

Surprised, the queen blinked again. "What? No, her name is Diana."

"No!" Dickie giggled. He pointed to the puppy. "He's name Hippo!"

Hippolyta looked confused. "I thought the dog's name was . . . Booger."

Dickie shook his head. "No Booger! Hippo. Like you!"

"Dickie, I don't think . . ." Batman began.

"Dey peety," Dick blurted. "Bof Hippos."

Batman glanced at the boy. "Are you trying to change the dog's name to Hippolyta?"

"Hippo!" Dick yelped happily, clapping his hands.

If Bruce was quietly appalled by the boy's faux pas, Diana was delighted. She laughed. "It's a compliment, Mother. The boy wishes to name his new puppy after you."

"Me? Oh, well . . . I suppose it would certainly be an improvement on Booger," the queen murmured, "but it is pronounced Hippolyta, child, not Hippo."

"Hippo . . . wyta," Dick sounded out as he bounced a little.

"He occasionally has trouble with his L's and R's," Diana explained.

"He's working on it," Batman inserted, attempting to hold Dick in place. "Oof! Sit still, Dickie. You're going to fall."

"Want Hippo," Dick complained, leaning towards the Amazon holding the squirming dog.

"Hippolyta is a proper name for you, I think," she told the ecstatic pup, running one hand across the top of its black head. "And, you must practice your L's, little man."

Dick leaned forward precariously. His pajama bottoms were too stretchy to hold him in place securely. "Want Hippo!"

Before Dick could fall, Hippolyta quickly plucked the child from his perch, sitting him on her hip. "You'll be safer with me, I think."

Dick leaned over to reach his pup. It wasn't until Hippolyta brought him close enough that he could touch the dog that the boy began to settle down.

"We don't wish to inconvenience you, your majesty," Batman told her. "We're only passing through. It is important that we speak with your gods. There is a war coming."

"My daughter has defeated Ares in combat," Hippolyta reminded them. "Surely, Diana and that Kryptonian would be able to . . ."

"I beg your pardon, your majesty," Batman interrupted. "I have seen her handiwork myself. She has already proven capable of killing instantly and in great numbers. We will need every advantage if we hope to defeat her.

Hippolyta glanced at the child in her arms, curiously. "You say she kills indiscriminately and yet, here you are, you and your . . . son," she asked, indicating the boy she held against her. "What is so special about you two?"

"She has no interest in me, but in the child," Batman gritted out. It was clear this was something that created anxiety in the masked one.

"That is what we are hoping Zeus can tell us," Diana said. "If we can return the boy to his prior state and return his memories . . ."

Hippolyta nodded. "Yes, so, you have said. Very well, I will allow you and your . . . son? to pass through Themyscira and return this way – this _one_ time,"

"Will I be required to carry them back to the invisible jet," Diana asked, smiling, "or might they be allowed to walk on the way back?"

Hippolyta swept past them, carrying the boy with her. "Let's not go crazy, shall we? There are reasons for our laws."

Dickie curled into the queen's body, snuggling up to her warmth in the cool night air as Hippolyta led the way into their central temple. Unlike the other temples that littered Themyscira, this one was built specifically as a method to travel to and from Olympus. Only one statue graced the interior, an enormous edifice representing Hermes, the messenger god. One hand held the caduceus, a winged staff with two snakes entwined around it, and the other hand was raised toward an opening in the ceiling of the temple, pointing to the heavens that lay beyond.

As they came to stand before the great statue, Hippolyta turned back to face her daughter and the Caped Crusader with a thoughtful expression.

"Before you depart," she said, "I am curious. Have you attempted to use the Lasso of Truth to question the child about his memories?"

Batman exchanged glances with Diana. She appeared startled by the suggestion.

"I – No, I have not."

"Why not?" Hippolyta asked. "That lasso compels one to tell the truth. If the memories are there, its magic should be able to expose them."

"Despite the block placed on them?" Diana asked. "I thought perhaps the conflicting magics at work might be too uncomfortable of an experience for the boy. He is not withholding his memories from us purposely, after all. The lasso powering through the Gray Woman's magic could cause him unnecessary pain while Mnemosyne should be able to unravel the block without hurting him."

Hippolyta nodded. "That _is_ a consideration. Very well then, you should be on your way." She turned back to the statue. "Hermes, we beg your assistance," she called out seemingly to the night air. Dickie raised his head, curious to see what she was doing.

"Zeus has requested the presence of mortal guests. Would you carry them to Olympus' lofty heights in the safety of your embrace?" she continued.

There was a rumble, and Dickie gasped at the sound of rocks grinding together as the statue began to move. It bent down on one knee and lowered its hand to just above the marble that lined the platform it stood upon.

"That's not something you see every day," Batman murmured as Hippolyta sat the boy onto the giant's palm.

Diana smirked. She moved up the steps, deposit the Dark Knight onto the hand next to the boy. She turned back to her mother. "Thank you. I would not have brought them here if there had been any other way."

Hippolyta sighed. "It appears your friends are expected," she admitted. "Who am I to deny the gods, although" she added a little louder as if for another's benefit, "it would have been appreciated had I been informed of this earlier."

A rumble of thunder roiled across the landscape and over the city. Dick slapped his hands over his ears in response, and Batman picked the boy up.

"I think your complaint was noted, Mother," Diana said as she took the pup from her sister and stepped up beside the Batman.

Batman wrapped Dick in the edge of his cape, pulling the heavy, treated leather around the child protectively. Immediately, the grinding sound returned as the statue resumed its previous stance, the hand lifting them high. The pup whined nervously as Dick twisted in Batman's arms in order to see what was going on. He gazed down at the queen now far below them.

"What we do?" he asked Batman, wide-eyed.

"We are going on a trip," he explained.

"We go bye?"

"We do," he confirmed.

Dick waved to the queen and the Amazon beside her. "We go home now? See Jay-Jay an Alfed?"

"Not yet," Batman explained. "Soon, though."

Diana looked up at the starry expanse through the opening in the ceiling and frowned. "Bruce, look!"

A large, black bird was sitting on the ledge. In the background, the stars were blotted out briefly as more birds flew in to land beside the first. There were dozens of them.

"What is that?" Hippolyta asked from where she stood below them.

"Ravens," Batman answered. "The Gray Woman know we're here. It looks as if they've managed to catch up with us."

"How is it they follow us? We were in a jet," Diana asked him, perplexed. "How could they have known we were here?"

"She is a god, after all," Batman answered as a way of explanation. Dick wasn't in danger, but he tugged a batarang from his belt, just in case.

Dick tightened his arms around Bruce's neck. Although, the boy wasn't panicking this time, he was still uncomfortable around the birds after his run-in with them in the library.

"Ravens come." He looked at Bruce, trying to find the eyes behind the lenses. " _She_ come?"

"It doesn't matter. We're leaving," he told the boy. "We're going someplace I doubt even her ravens can follow."

Suddenly, an arrow flew past them, striking the first bird. It screeched as it fell from its perch. The other ravens beat their wings, startled.

"No! Don't attack them!" Batman yelled down at the queen.

Hippolyta, however, was already notching another arrow on her bow as more Amazons poured into the temple. Ravens flew into the temple now from above and entrances below. Several began circling the hand and arm of the statue, forming a moving black shield around the occupants as the rest of them attacked the Amazons. Batman's warning was moot for the battle had begun.

He tightened his own hold on the boy as Wonder Woman pulled free her sword in preparation to enter the fray. "Don't try to fight them," he told her. "Just get us out of here. That's the surest way to stop this."

Diana kept her sword out as she called out, "Hermes! Take us!"

Instantly, a flash of light engulfed them. The ravens squawked but the sounds were far away as if already a great distance separated the small group of travelers from the battle around them. And then, they were gone.

* * *

 **REACTIONS? Please?**

 **You know how three-year-olds can be. Short attention spans and changing their minds constantly. LOL! I'm actually kind of fond of Hippo as a name for the puppy, but who knows if Dickie can stick with this one or want to change it again when he hears something else he likes better.**

 **Apparently, in Greek mythology, Heracles' (Hercules) 9th labor was obtaining the belt of Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons. In order to keep peace, Hippolyta saw no reason to deny him her belt (it was a sign of her right to rule the Amazons) and planned to give it to him. Hera, who hated Heracles, took the form of an Amazon and sowed rumors that Heracles planned to abduct the queen. She rallied the Amazons who attacked the ship they were on, and in the battle, Heracles killed Hippolyta - this is one version. There were at least two others, one in which she is abducted and marries Theseus, but in every version the queen of the Amazons dies.**

 **She is alive and well in my story, thankfully, but you can understand where Hippolyta might harbor a grudge against men in general after an experience like that. Just thought I'd share that tidbit with you.**

 **Next stop - Chapter 21: Olympus! Again, more than half is already written for this, so I don't expect it to take more than it did to get this one up.**


	21. The Distance Between Gods and Men

**You guys are fantastic! Thank you so much for your patience - It's paid off this time. I'll explain later, at the end of the chapter. Now, for your edification, and I probably should have mentioned this earlier when this character first appeared, but Rhiannon is pronounced (at least in MY universe) as RHEE-Annin.  
**

 **WARNING: Some Language (maybe) . . .**

* * *

"I'm sure they're alright," Batman told Wonder Woman as they moved from the golden gate that marked the entrance to the mountainous home of the gods. They had been standing on the lowest level of a great city, just inside the gate, when the light had faded and they could see again. "The ravens should have flown away the moment we left Themyscira."

"I would return to be sure, but I promised you I would stay with Dick and protect him," she said in return. "My mother and sisters are a force to be reckoned with, however. They will be able to defend themselves against a flock of birds."

He wanted to tell her to go, to make sure, but being surrounded by beings who could turn them into a stand of trees, Batman kept silent. Too much was riding on this meeting, not simply the returning of Dick to normal. If it came down to it, he would raise the boy to adulthood a second time and be grateful for the opportunity to correct the many mistakes he had made the first time through. Although, Dick deserved to have his previous life restored to him, it would mean nothing should they all cease to exist.

Batman sighed. _Priorities_ , he reminded himself. First and foremost, they needed the gods on their side and willing to fight.

They began to make their way through the city nestled amidst the jagged mountain peaks, traveling past brilliant white buildings, lush parks with shimmering lakes, streams, and ponds. It was much larger than he had imagined it to be. Peaceful and beautiful, he wondered, would Olympus be safe in this interstitial space between earth and the universe or would it too be destroyed?

He felt Diana's eyes on him, pulling him from his thoughts.

"You understand why I didn't bring it up, don't you?" she asked him.

"The Lasso?" he clarified, although he knew what she was talking about.

"Yes. To try to deny the truth, even making the choice to not answer a question under the influence of the Lasso, would bring discomfort that would increase in strength until the truth is given," she explained. "I do not know how powerful this Gray Woman is, but if she is indeed a goddess, Dick would have suffered as the magics of the lasso and her power warred against one another."

"Discomfort?"

"Pain," she clarified.

As much as he wanted Dick returned to normal, Bruce didn't want him to have to suffer needlessly. As an adult, Bruce knew that Dick would have willingly chosen to risk it, but he wasn't grown man at the moment. As a child, the boy wouldn't be able to understand well enough to make such a decision for himself . . . And, he shouldn't have to, not if there was another, less traumatic, method they could try. That was his hope anyway, the reason he allowed Diana to sway him into bringing the boy with them.

"While the method the gods use to return his memories could still prove uncomfortable, the process should be gentler for him."

He grunted in approval. "I appreciate that you have given this so much thought. I'd prefer it we do this without hurting him."

"But, not if it endangered the universe?" She asked. She had never seen Batman so protective as he was since this change happened, not even when the boy had first become Robin, so many years ago.

"Dick verses the fate of the universe, Diana," he murmured. "I pray that it won't come to that. I would rather not make that choice."

She pointed to the tall, pillared building that sat at the uppermost peak of the mountain. "There is where we are going," she said. "The path leading to it is long and winding."

Batman scooped Dick up and put him on his shoulders as he picked up the pace. Any objections the child might have made were quickly replaced with giggles. Of course, Dick would enjoy the height.

"Hurry, Hippo!" he called down to the pup. The dog was continuously distracted by the vast array of new smells but would bound after them at the first gentle tug on her leash.

"I was hoping we could be back in Gotham by morning, but I don't see how at this point."

"I could carry you both again and fly there," Wonder Woman offered. "It would be a little trickier with the dog, but possible." Batman's answering grimace made her grin. "No worries, Bruce. I won't do that to you again," she laughed. "Time works differently here. With Hermes help, we should arrive back in Gotham before daybreak, no matter how long this meeting takes."

He grunted in appreciation. Necessity made foregoing his pride on Themyscira easy enough, but here on Olympus, the simple act of being mortal already put him at a disadvantage. If he thought his humiliation would improve their chances in obtaining the gods' help, he would, of course, allow it, but Bruce didn't believe that doing so would sway Zeus and the other gods one way or the other. Their moods were so mercurial that there was no sure way of knowing.

He continued the pace he had set.

Dickie looked around him in awe from his perch, pointing out every new and interesting thing he saw. Wonder Woman led the way up grand marble steps and through courtyards filled with colorful flowers, perfectly manicured trees, and graceful statues honoring Olympus' many and varied occupants. Fountains and pools were plentiful, and the lilting sounds of trickling water filled the air.

Although, it was still night in Gotham and Themyscira, Olympus boasted blue skies and sunshine. The double rainbows overhead was the most brilliant Bruce had ever seen. Olympus appeared to be a place of splendor and tranquility, but Batman knew how easily it could be otherwise. Stories of discontent and wars happening on this sacred mountain filled the pages of mythology. The gods here were an irascible bunch; petulant, quick-tempered, and easily offended. Not for the first time, did Batman wish he had left the boy and his dog behind, despite Diana's many assurances that Dick could be helped.

Olympus, the city, was perched precariously. High upon a large mountain, its base was invisible as they were well above the clouds here. On earth, he, Dick, and the dog would be struggling for breath at this height, but no one from among their party were in any way distressed. Oxygen appeared to be in abundance. As the mountain bearing its name in Greece wasn't near this height, Batman determined them to be in some sort of pocket dimension, linked to earth through the use of magic.

Music could be heard floating in the air around them, graceful notes plucked on a lyre. A voice sang a wordless tune that sounded both familiar and strange, the singer herself was hidden from view. They did catch sight of various personages, however, as they worked their way up to the glistening golden palace balanced on the uppermost peak. He didn't recognize them by sight. Homer hadn't given but the vaguest of descriptions.

The inhabitants ignored them for the most part with only the occasional curious glance in their direction at the giggling child on the shoulders of the brooding, black bat. He looked distinctly out of place amongst the white, gold, and silver of glittering buildings and godly natives. Bats, on the whole, didn't glow.

"Want down," Dick announced the moment the novelty of riding on Batman's shoulders wore off.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, chum," Batman told him. "We still have a long way to go, and I don't want you to get tired or fall behind."

Dickie grinned. "I won't get ti-yard."

"You might," Batman countered.

"He won't get tired here," Diana said over her shoulder. "I told you, Olympus revitalizes you."

"Not helping, Wonder Woman," he sighed. "He's too easily distracted."

"I no de-track-ed," Dick argued. He stopped, frowning. "What detrack-ed?"

"Distrac-TED," Batman corrected. "It means you will run off every time you see something interesting instead of keeping up with Wonder Woman and I."

"Want down," Dick repeated, unimpressed by the argument.

"On one condition," he told the boy. "You have to hold my hand the entire way."

"Oooo-kay." Although, Dickie agreed readily, he didn't look especially happy about it.

Hippo perked up as soon as Batman set the child on his feet. Barking happily, she immediately jumped on the boy. The sound of the child's laughter brought more attention to them than did Batman's dark presence. Smiles were directed in the child's direction.

Batman held out his hand. "Take my hand. You promised," he reminded the boy.

Dick bounced on his feet. "I walk Hippo!" he announced, taking the puppy's leash from Diana.

"I don't think that is a good idea," Batman said. He shook his hand a little to catch the child's attention. "Hand, Dickie, right now."

"Peeeeease? I walk Hippo," Dick whined, ignoring the outstretched hand as he continued to tug gently on the pup's pink leash. "Pease, Bwoose?"

"Plllllease," he automatically corrected. "And, you are to call me Batman when I am wearing the cowl."

Dick's sigh was large and dramatic. "Plllllease, Batman? I walk Hippo."

"You're dropping your L's again," Batman grumbled, but he handed over the leash, looping it around the boy's wrist for extra security. "We're going to need to find you a speech therapist if Zeus is unable to change you back."

"What is a speech therapist?" a melodic voice asked.

Batman straightened abruptly, turning toward a violet-haired woman standing off to the side. She was tall – much taller than both he and Diana as were all of Olympus' denizens – with lovely, dark skin glistening in the sunlight as if it had been coated in diamond dust. It reminded him of the stars in the night sky. He shook his head to rid his mind of such fanciful thoughts. Dark purple eyes gazed at the boy and his puppy curiously.

Diana introduced them. "Batman, this is Urania. She is the muse of astronomy."

He nodded to the young woman. "Astronomy." His wayward thought now made sense.

Diana smiled. "You can tell by the violet hair and eyes," she told him in an amused stage whisper. "Urania and all her sisters share the same distinction."

Urania knelt beside Dick and the dog. "May I pet your puppy?" she asked.

Dick smiled, nodding enthusiastically. "He name Hippo!"

Urania laughingly fended off Hippo's happy kisses. "He? I do believe that your puppy is a girl," she told him.

"Uh huh," Dick nodded distractedly, staring at her. "You eyes peety."

"Peety? Oh, you think I am pretty. Thank you," she smiled graciously. "What's your name, little man?"

"My name am Dickie," the boy said brightly.

"Your name _is_ Dickie," she corrected gently.

Dickie frowned. "Jay-Jay say ' _am_ '."

Urania looked at Batman. "Who is Jay-Jay?"

"Jay-Jay is Jason, the boy's . . . brother. He is home," Batman explained. "The child's language skills aren't well-developed yet, thus the need for a therapist who specializes in speech."

Urania looked thoughtful. "Perhaps, one of my sisters might help with that," she offered. "Euterpe would be the best at it. She could gift him with lyrical speech that would thrill men's souls."

"His ability to sing isn't our most immediate concern," Batman told her.

"That's a most generous offer," Diana inserted. "My companion doesn't mean to appear ungrateful."

"No. Of course not. My apologies," Batman murmured. He needed to stay on these beings' good side, but the gift of song wasn't exactly a pressing need.

"Tis but a small thing to do. Any of my sisters or I could correct his speech," Urania said lightly.

"Would you do this for him?" Diana asked the muse. "The child's command of languages was quite impressive at one time. His memories were stripped from him, however, and with them, most of his vocabulary."

Urania tilted her head curiously at this. She tugged the leash, using it to draw the child close to her. She ran a hand over his head, gazing into his blue eyes for a long moment. Stepping closer, Batman placed a hand protectively on Dick's shoulder should he find it necessary to pull him away from the muse abruptly.

"You are right," Urania announced a moment later. "The words are not in him. He speaks as one much younger than himself."

"We are lucky in that he can communicate with us at all. He was nineteen-years-old a few days ago until he met up with one of your kind," Batman told her. "I brought him here in the hopes that one of the gods here might be able to reverse what was done to him."

"A goddess from an unknown pantheon is responsible for this," Diana explained diplomatically. "We came to discuss this goddess with Zeus and beseech him to have the boy returned to his original form, memories and all."

"You will need my mother for that," Urania murmured.

"Is Mnemosyne available?" Diana asked. "Would she be willing to help us?"

"If I asked her, or if Zeus petitioned her for help, I am certain she would agree," the muse confirmed. "As for returning the child to his previous age, Chronus would be the god to ask . . . or, perhaps Aion, but care must be taken. Both are ancient primordial gods. They do not feel empathy for mortals. Either one of them could as easily decide to change the child into an old man on the cusp of death as to return him to his proper age."

"Couldn't Zeus forbid that?" Batman asked, alarmed.

"He can, but with the ancients, it's still what you might call . . . Um, what was that human term again? Oh yes, a 'crapshoot'. In either case," Urania smiled as she stood back up, "you should see my mother first. If she can return his memories, you will not need _my_ help. I will gather my sisters, regardless. Calliope would be my first choice. She is the muse of poetry and can bless the child with, not only his vocabulary, but an eloquence of words."

"Thank you. If you can bring your mother and sisters to Zeus' palace," Diana told her, "that is where we are headed now."

The muse ran a graceful, bejeweled hand over Dickie's dark head of hair. "You are lucky to have a father who risks so much to help you," she told him. "He must love you very much."

Dickie's hand finally slipped into Batman's own leather-clad one. He looked up at the man in the cowl confused by the term. "What fah-der?"

Batman met the boy's gaze. "It means daddy,"

Dick's bottom lip jutted out. "I no have daddy," he said forlornly.

"Yes," Bruce murmured, making the decision that had been haunting him for the last couple of days, "you do." He squeezed Dick's hand. The child's eyes widened with hopefulness.

If Dick was surprised by his answer, Diana was not.

"Of both you and Jason," he explained to the grinning boy. He met Diana's gaze. "I'll be drawing up the paperwork as soon as we return to Gotham."

Diana raised a curious eyebrow. "Even should Chronus or Aion be able to change him back to his former age?"

Bruce's jaw firmed beneath his cowl. "Even so," he said gruffly. "I should have done this years ago."

"Yes," she agreed. "You should have."

Turning on his heel, he tugged the boy after him. Dick trotted along with him happily. Hippo ran to keep up, barking enthusiastically. As they passed through a quiet section of parkland, Batman released the boy's hand. He could see a fair distance in front of them and knew Dick couldn't disappear on him before he could catch up with him. His lips twitched as the child and his pup ran in circles around each other, barking and laughing joyfully.

"Alas," Diana lamented quietly beside him as they watched the child and his dog frolicking, "I think I will miss him at this age." She looked at Batman, her knowing eyes meeting his opaque lenses. "Won't you?"

He was silent for the time it took them to cross the park. Dickie and Hippo started up yet another set of steps leading to the next city level. The boy turned around and waved.

"Hurry, Bwoose!" he yelled from the top. "Hurry, come see!"

He glanced at Diana, relenting. "Perhaps," he agreed, "just a bit." He called up to the boy, "Dick, stay where I can see you . . ." but Dick and his dog were already gone.

They took the steps two and three at a time as the sounds of splashing reached them.

"Richard John Grayson," Batman growled, taking off after the two escapees, "Get out of that fountain this instant."

* * *

Diana laughed.

While the growl might have frightened any of the criminals Batman dealt with on a nightly basis, the little boy understood instinctively that, when the big, black Bat was around, he was safe. Dick squealed in delight as he tried to outrun his father's long-legged stride through the shallow water, the puppy barking madly at the two of them. Batman swept down, scooping the soaking wet boy up and into his arms.

If the Batman smiled or chuckled at the boy's antics, she pretended not to notice. The dangers they were facing were real, and if the man and his son could find a moment of joy in the midst of it, all the better, she decided. Diana had lived nearly two thousand years and knew, even without this latest threat looming over them, that she would certainly outlive her friends.

So, let them laugh while they could.

* * *

A short time later, they found the palace of Zeus looming large ahead of them. Diana handed Hippo's leash over, entering first. If the leader of the gods was in a sour mood, she was better prepared to handle it. Batman slowed his footsteps, lowering Dick to the floor as he swept his cape around the boy. At least, until he better understood what they were walking into.

"Stay close to me," Bruce instructed him.

Wide-eyed, Dick leaned into Batman's side, wrapping his arm around the man's leg as his thumb found its way into his mouth. Still wary of strangers, the boy seemed to understand that the giants inside the palace weren't as friendly as the pretty muse he met earlier.

As Diana kneeled before the throne, Batman chose to remain standing near the entrance.

Only vaguely resembling the god that has been rendered in a multitude of statues and paintings, Zeus' hair and beard were more blonde than white, his eyes were a pale blue color, startling in their intensity. He appeared as a man in his prime. Larger than life, Batman guessed him to be well above nine feet in height. Zeus loomed over all who were present. If his power was reflected in his stature, they might actually have a shot at this. Unfortunately, Batman knew well that looks were deceiving, having himself toppled powerful enemies who had towered over him.

"Ah, Diana. How good of you to join us," Zeus greeted as he noticed her. "As beautiful as ever. How is your mother? Did Hippolyta ask after me?"

Diana glanced up from her position. "My mother is as formidable as ever, my lord Zeus," she said diplomatically.

Her eyes flicked over to where Hera, the god's infamously jealous wife, stood. The last thing the Amazons, or anyone needed right now, was another vengeful goddess wreaking havoc. Hera, too, stood head and shoulders over the Amazon and humans in her presence. Her vibrant red hair was swept up in an attractive loose bun and secured with golden twine, and green eyes flashed suspiciously.

Seeming to recall his wife, Zeus turned to the matter at hand. "Did you bring . . .? Ah, yes, I see that you did," he murmured, spying Batman standing near one of the columns. "You do not kneel before us, mortal?"

"Members of the Greek Pantheon are not my gods," Batman explained carefully. He preferred not to offend anyone until after Dick had been helped.

"Whom _do_ you worship, then? Science?"

"Justice," he said carefully. "I prefer to make my own destiny rather than leaving it up to the uncertain mercies of unknown gods with prickly dispositions."

"Batman," Diana hissed in warning.

So much for not offending anyone, he thought with a shrug. But then, Zeus laughed, the sound rumbling like thunder through the throne room.

Amused, Zeus waved them in. "Step forward, Batman. Let us speak to one another about this strange new goddess I've been hearing tales about. She has the world in an uproar?"

Diana stood as Batman entered the throne room, keeping one hand on Dick's shoulder. He would have preferred to have remained closer to the entrance. His preference denied, he searched out potential exits instead.

"The princess said that you have been calling her Gray Woman . . ." Zeus said, looking to Wonder Woman to confirm this. "Tell me, _why_ should we interfere? We haven't meddled in the affairs of men in more than a millennium."

"She is part of a legend called 'The End of All' or 'The End of Everything'," Batman explained. "Have you heard of it?"

"A legend." Zeus scratched his beard. "You disturb me for a rumor? I hardly see the need to get worked up over the likes of a bedtime story."

" _You_ requested my presence, Zeus. You must believe there is more to this legend than a mere rumor. I can vouch for you that this goddess is real. More than eight hundred people have died _instantly_ by her hand," Batman told him. "The power she exudes is terrifying."

Zeus lifted an eyebrow skeptically. "Have you faced her, then? You, who shroud yourself in darkness, have felt this fear?"

Batman clenched his jaw. "What I _fear_ is that she is a threat the Justice League will not be able to defeat alone. We will need the help of another god if we are to have a hope of stopping her."

"And yet, here you stand before me none the worse for wear," Zeus commented as he reached for his goblet.

"What I have discovered is that this goddess, this Gray Woman, moves from dimension to dimension, destroying the universe of each and ending all life therein."

Zeus smirked, wiping mead from his beard with the back of his hand. "We are gods. We have nothing to fear from one such as this."

"So, you will flee then, like the Fae?" Batman asked. He took a calculated risk by insulting the god. "They've been staying ahead of her destruction by jumping dimensions and settling within new universes each time she appears."

Zeus' face darkened with anger and a rumble of thunder moved throughout the palace. Bruce could feel the vibrations through the soles of his boots and the echo of it in his chest. It might have intimidated him had he not experienced Gray Woman's power first. Dick, however, whimpered quietly, tugging at his arm from beneath his cape.

"She come?" he asked softly.

"No. She won't come. Not here," Batman said to comfort him, and prayed he was right.

Zeus frowned, curiosity replacing his anger momentarily. "Who is that? To whom are you speaking, mortal?"

With only a slight hesitation, Batman lifted his cape and drew Dick forward. The boy looked up to him for reassurance.

"You brought a child here?" Hera asked, intrigued for the first time since their arrival. She moved to where they stood, and although she knelt, the goddess still loomed above both Bruce and the toddler.

Batman kept one gloved hand on the boy's shoulder protectively as Dickie wrapped an arm around his leg.

"You eat us?" Dickie asked the giant lady.

If she was surprised by the question, Hera hid it well. "No, darling. I'm afraid we don't do that anymore," she promised him with a smile. "Who are you?"

Shy, Dick leaned closer into Bruce's leg, sticking his thumb into his mouth. "I Dickie," he mumbled around the appendage.

Batman ran a hand over the boy's dark head as he answered what the goddess really wanted to know. "He's my son."

"It was I who suggested he bring the boy to this audience," Diana quickly explained. "You see, the child was a young man until a few days ago when he met with the Gray Woman face-to-face."

"For reasons unknown to us, she transformed him into a child, stripping him of all his memories," Batman inserted. "We brought him here in hopes that you might reverse this and have his memories returned"

"He met her?" another voice interrupted the entreaty. "How is it this boy still lives? Who is this child to the Destroyer that she would leave him breathing when all else falls to dust at her feet?"

The woman, human based upon her size, was followed into the hall by four gods. She wore a brown hooded cloak beneath which was glittering chainmail over a dark-green gown. A sword hilt peeked out, dangling from one hip, and a pair of daggers were tucked into her thick leather belt. She looked as though she had just stepped out of the annals of history and was decked out for war.

Hera stood. "Ares, Artemis," she said, acknowledging the pair of gods who entered wearing their own armor. Her eyes moved to the two bringing up the rear. "Hades, Poseidon, what brings you two to Olympus?"

Ares answered for his uncles. "I invited them here to a council of war."

The thunder rumbled as Zeus rose from his throne, his ennui replaced by a lightning-quick temper. "You assume much, Ares," he growled. "We do not concern ourselves in the affairs of man anymore. Mankind has long since turned its back on us. I would not have us entering into a foolish war on their behalf."

"Even if we do not take part in the affairs of men, the earth is still considered our dominion. Allowing their destruction at the hand of an unknown god would make us appear weak. You would allow others to usurp our place in the cosmos, then?" Ares snapped.

Zeus turned away. "If it is the age of man, let their scientists deal with this."

The woman lowered her hood, revealing sun-kissed skin and long, dark-brown hair held from her face with two braids. Her eyes were so dark as to be black. "More fool are you, then, my lord," she told the thunder god boldly.

"You DARE?" Zeus roared, making Dick jump. Batman lifted the boy up in his arms.

Poseidon stepped forward and raised a hand to calm his brother. "What harm would it do to hear the humans out?"

Barking echoed throughout the marble hall, interrupting the argument. Diana scooped the little black dog up as it growled at the giants in the room.

"Easy, pup," she crooned. "They aren't angry with you."

Artemis found a smile. Having an affinity with animals, she admired the pluck of one so young. "Who is this brave little pup?"

Dick whined, leaning in Diana direction. "Hippo mine!"

"Hippo's fine, Dickie," Batman told the boy. "Diana will keep her safe."

Hades took note of the side drama with interest. "Whatever possessed you to allow a human child here, brother? Going soft, are we?"

Hera sliced a hand through the air. "Enough with this bickering. What the Amazon and the bat person has told us hearkens to what Ares' little druid has been asserting since she arrived here. You might at least hear them out before you dismiss these stories completely."

"I should have banished the priestess the moment she arrived," Zeus lamented. "She's done nothing but make a nuisance of herself with all this talk of war and the gathering of armies."

"Say your piece, priestess," Hades told the woman.

"Yes, speak quick," Ares urged, "ere my father changes his mind."

Artemis smirked while petting the little dog in Diana's arms. "Indeed. We've discovered our father changes his mind as often as any woman might."

"First, I must ask, are you Rhiannon?" Batman held a hand up as he asked his question.

"How do you know of me?" Rhiannon asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

"From a mutual acquaintance amongst the Fae," he told her.

"Saileach, yes. I know her. She is called the Creeping Willow . . . Has she been telling tales of me?" her eyes dropped back onto the child. "I hope you were not foolish enough to bargain with her. One taste of the wee one's blood would allow her to track him anywhere in the world, all for the chance to sip more from his veins when the child was alone and unprotected."

"No bargains were struck, but she told of a legend about the end of all," Batman said. "That is why you are here, is it not? Because it is not a legend but truth."

"May I assume, then, that the world still lives?" she asked.

"It does," Diana admitted, drawing the druid's attention. "The goddess left, however, with a promise to return. We came in hopes of entreating the gods here to stand with us in preparation for that day."

"An Amazon," the priestess remarked. "I've heard tales of your kind. We could have used your assistance two thousand years ago when first we faced the goddess."

"We knew nothing about this threat at that time" Diana assured her. "Had we known, we would have joined you on the battlefield."

The druid shrugged. "You would have only died there with the rest of my kinsmen." Frowning, Rhiannon's eyes darting again to the child in Batman's arms. "I cannot see her granting _anyone_ a reprieve, however. You said this child met her?"

"He did, at which time she stole years from his life, took his memories, and left him marked," Batman told her.

"She marked him? For what purpose would she do such things?"

"We don't know. Only that she has plans to return for him," Batman admitted.

"And, destroy the world in the process . . ." Rhiannon snapped. Her sword appeared in his hand. "Perhaps, if she had no reason to return, we might be spared." She lunged forward swinging a longsword with dangerous precision.

Batman reacted instantly, tossing a handful of smoke pellets down, he threw himself and the boy to the side. He curled his body protectively around Dick as they rolled. The druid burst through the smoke even as Diana leapt to confront her. The Amazon's sword blocked the druid's with a loud clash of metal. As Batman came to his feet, he prepared to grapple his boy away should Diana somehow fail to stop the attack, but he was not without his own line of defense.

Suddenly, both women were disarmed. Swords, twice the length of their bodies, were held at their throats to stop the fight. Hermes dropped the women's swords at the base of Zeus' throne a second later. Only then did Ares and Artemis stepped back, releasing the women as they sheathed their own weapons.

"You can have your weapons back only if you sheath them," Ares declared.

Diana walked over to retrieve her sword. "We came in peace, but I will defend my colleague and the child with my life."

Blood dripped from Rhiannon wrist. She pulled the batarang free, dropping it at her feet. "You move fast, demon," she said with unnerving calm.

"When it is necessary," Batman agreed. He slid his grapnel gun back onto his belt.

Rhiannon nodded to the immortals. "For now, it will be as you wish," she told them, tearing a piece from her cloak and wrapping her wrist as she went to retrieve her own weapon.

"What is wrong with you?" Diana snapped at the other woman as she passed. "We are facing extinction and you would risk alienating your best hope for assistance by attacking an innocent?"

"Innocent? He bears her mark!" Rhiannon snarled. " _You_ would betray humanity for the son of devil? How does he know such things?"

"You are out of your mind," Diana declared. "Batman is just as human as you, and his son is just a little boy. We came here for the same reason you did, to petition the gods for their help."

"The _child_ is not _just_ anything," Hera announced, drawing all eyes to her. "The mark he bears, I believe, is a warning."

They turned to where the queen had kneeled next to Batman and the boy. Her husband, Zeus, turned his attention to the child for the first time.

"Yes. I can feel it now," he said. "The mark is a sign of ownership, but by whom, I don't know. I did not recognize it for what it was before as the goddess it represents is foreign to me."

Poseidon glared at the priestess in disapproval. "You would bring your goddess' wrath to Olympus with your foolish actions, druid."

"She is not my goddess," the woman retorted angrily.

Zeus shook his head. "Enough! I grow weary of this drama. Take the child; return to the earth. All of you, go."

* * *

Rhiannon fell to her knees, for once, contrite. It had been long since she had dealt with god-like beings. She had forgotten how to be circumspect over the centuries without the daily rituals that made up druid worship. For so long, she had only one to fear, only one who could still make her knees quake at the thought of standing before her, face to face - and it was not these.

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord. Please, I beseech you to reconsider. My own gods have fled before the Destroyer, as have the Tuatha De Danaan. Without the might of the Olympians at our sides, our world - _all worlds_ \- end."

She watched the immortals warily. Rhiannon didn't know these gods, couldn't predict how they might react, but with her own pantheon of gods missing or dead, she had no choice but to seek their favor. She couldn't let her quest end like this. She could _not_ fail.

She glanced at the one dressed in black as if he were some kind of bat and the child he held in his arms. Despite her distrust, she knew it was best if she kept them in sight. The boy was important in all this, although she didn't know how. Her memories of their battle with the Gray One more than a millennium ago was as fresh in her mind as if it were yesterday. The blood, the death, the pain – _the fear_!

No one knew much about the Destroyer, not even Morrigan. Everyone who might have had knowledge of the rogue goddess was dead. Everything she had learned about her came from her time spent in the realm of Faery, but even that source had its limits. The Fae had fled from the coming of the End of All, staying but a few steps ahead of extinction over the course of many eons. They hadn't remained around in any of those universes long enough to learn anything of worth.

Apparently, the druid trap had been the first victory against the goddess in the history of time itself . . . such as it were. Their victory had only been temporary. Morrigan knew this. It was why she had left this dimension on the same eve they finished burying the orb in the metal box. They didn't know when the gray goddess would escape her prison, only that she would.

The spells cast upon that cursed ground had been well enough to keep most of the curious and unwary from discovering the iron box. Rhiannon had only needed to venture from Faery thrice over the centuries. Her judgment on those unlucky souls had been swift and merciless. No whisper of the death that lay beneath the altar within the circle of Rowen trees could ever be allowed to escape.

But, they had apparently been unsuccessful in encouraging forgetfulness amongst the villagers that had survived near the edges of the battle zone. _Someone_ had _remembered_. Worse! Someone had spoken of it. Obviously, the details had been varnished over throughout the course of the ages, enough so that these last seekers believed the box had held treasure and not the annihilation of their reality.

This was _her_ failure. She should have simply struck them down. Instead, she had allowed her memories of her own people, her home, her own earthly realm to stay her hand. To prevent the obliteration all she had known, Rhiannon had to fashion herself into the form of her enemy and become an instrument of death.

It was the worst sort of irony.

She couldn't complain, however. She had volunteered for this duty. Her eyes flicked again to the boy and his protectors. They were the _key_ to all of this. Now, if only she could solve the puzzle.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **When I finished this chapter, it was immense. As I might have mentioned before, I had hoped to keep Olympus to just one chapter, but it was just too ridiculously long. (Somewhere around 13,347 or so words, in fact, without my author's notes!) I know some of you like long chapters, but I had to split it up. This one is still a respectably lengthy size. The next will be even longer. The really great news is that they are BOTH finished. I have only a little editing on the newest piece and it will be going up as well - in just a few days!**

 **That's right! TWO CHAPTERS both out within a week of each other. You can expect the thrilling second part on or before this Friday . . .**

 ****Please, don't leave without a review! Let me know what you think of the story so far.**


	22. The River Mnemosyne

**The editing for this chapter went a lot quicker than I expected. Makes me wonder if I caught everything. LOL! No - I NEVER catch everything. Btw, if you have a read aloud option on Word or for the Internet, you should try it. It's more than a bit surreal listening to somebody else's voice reading your story aloud to you. (And it is really good at finding those 'extra' words in your work that you forgot to delete.)**

 **WARNING: Some Language, Disturbing Images . . .**

* * *

Batman ground his teeth. He couldn't let it end like this. As much as he just wanted to take Dick home, he couldn't. The Gray Woman would return and, when that happened, she would take Dick with her and more people would die. The _world_ would die. _Everything_ . . .

"She spoke to him," he blurted.

Rhiannon's head whipped around. "You're lying! There is no record of her speaking to anyone, yet you claim she spoke to this child?"

"She did and I suspect on more than one occasion," he told them. "Although, what she said to him, I don't know. Dick's memories were stripped from him and what little he does remember, he is reluctant to share."

"I don't suppose I can blame him for that," the priestess murmured. "I often wish I could erase my own memories."

Hades considered the humans in their midst. Diana, as an Amazon, was a formidable opponent. He remembered her battling Ares quite well. "If the Celtic Pantheon and the Tuatha De Danaan have fled, and the Amazons are this concerned, brother, it might behoove us to learn what words this mystery goddess might have whispered to him."

"Is it possible to return the boy his memories?" Batman asked Zeus. He already knew it was.

Wonder Woman added her voice to this. "With the threat so vague and yet so great, it would be helpful to know what the child knows. He's had more than one encounter with her. Of everyone, he's perhaps the most knowledgeable, but he cannot seem to access them."

Zeus glanced at Rhiannon.

She shrugged. "I, for one, have never heard her speak. If she talked with the boy, he may shed some light on her plans, and provide us with a weakness we might exploit."

Ares grunted. "She returns to the child. It is obvious that _he_ is her weakness. We should learn all he knows and use him to bring her down once and for all."

Batman growled, stepping forward. "His memories should be returned to him, but no one will be ' _using_ ' him against the goddess. She would retaliate against any aggression against him."

Diana touched his arm only for Batman to jerk away angrily. "He means using Dickie's memories, Bruce, nothing more," she tried to reassure him.

"That isn't what he meant, Diana," he told her angrily.

Ares laughed. "The dark one knows more than you do, Diana. That is exactly what I'm suggesting. A simple plan would work better than something complicated. Based off your past experiences, we know that to threaten the child would bring her to us. When she comes, we would attack."

" _No one_ threatens that boy," Batman snarled, pointing in the war god's direction. "Your plan would fail. She would show up prepared to destroy anyone and everyone around him. The child could be harmed in the battle that would follow. She would definitely take him with her once she was finished with you."

"Are you afraid then, mortal? _We_ ," Ares waved an arm around the temple, "are not so frail. _We_ are not so easily defeated."

Rhiannon shook her head. "Alone, she took on eight gods. She did not just defeat them, she _destroyed_ them as well as thousands of druid warriors. Only one goddess remained standing after that, but once we miraculously managed to contain our enemy through the use of magic and trickery, Morrigan still fled, afraid even to remain in the same dimension with _her_."

Hades smirked. "You speak of gods from the Celtic pantheon. They were not as powerful as we are."

"Pride will be your undoing," the druid priestess warned ominously.

"Enough," Zeus commanded. "Your arguments are pointless. It is clear the child's memories should be searched for answers. I will allow it."

"I see that I have arrived just in time."

Batman turned to see that Urania had arrived with her mother and sisters in tow at some point during their argument. Mnemosyne's hair was blonde and wound up in complicated twists and braids upon her head. She appeared as young and as lovely as her daughters, her eyes the color of a clear mountain pool, deep blue and mysterious as though filled with secrets to which no one else was privy. Bruce gave his head a little shake to clear it of its musings.

Zeus beckoned the goddess of memory forth. "Mnemosyne, if you would?"

"You know, I came here thinking that it would be Zeus himself that would be helping us." Bruce murmured to Diana.

"Although, he is the most powerful of the gods, his abilities still have their limits," the Amazon explained. "If Dick's memories are there, Mnemosyne would be better able to find and access them with the least amount of distress to the boy."

"And his age?" Batman asked. "Didn't Urania mention that one of these gods could return him to his proper age?"

Diana frowned, thinking. "Yes. Chronos might be our best hope for that but remember her warnings. Would it so bad allowing Dick to remain a child?"

"A young man's mind in the body of a child, Diana?" Bruce looked at her. That, he imagined, would truly be a curse. "Dick would not thank us for that." He looked around. Several gods were now present, but each had limits in what they could and could not do. "Not exactly omnipotent, are they?" Bruce murmured.

"Sh. Don't remind them," she smirked. "They are not, any one of them, omnipotent or omniscient. I do not know of one who is."

Bruce grunted. "That is probably for the best considering their temperaments."

"Hm," Diana hummed softly in agreement.

None who had any knowledge of the gods could say any were of an even temperament. Most could be described as jealous and spiteful, and there were a few that Diana thought walked the thin line bordering sanity. Even those who personified peace and harmony might become offended and convinced to turn their back upon you or, worse, lay a curse upon you or your loved ones. The entire pantheon was a prickly bunch, to be sure

Zeus indicated the child. "Mnemosyne, this child's memories have been stolen from him. What can you do to restore them? We have need of knowledge of which only he can supply us."

Dick tightened his arms around Batman's neck.

"I'll be right here with you, Dickie," he murmured into the child's ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

The goddess approached the child, gently brushing Dick's bangs from his eyes. She paused briefly, frowning at the dark mark upon his brow. Batman's eyes caught the hesitation.

"Is there a problem?" he asked her.

"The child has been marked," Mnemosyne replied. "He is under the protection of another." She glanced behind her at Zeus, questioningly.

"We've determined that it is a warning against harm," Zeus explained. "We only wish his memories returned."

Batman watched the goddess run a finger over the mark and shiver. A line marred her perfect forehead, although it didn't prevent her from doing what was asked.

Mnemosyne pulled a small golden lamp from the folds of her gown and lit it with her breath. The white smoke rose from it to spiral around Dick. The boy frowned, leaning into Batman's body, laying his head on the man's shoulder as he watched Mnemosyne's actions warily.

Mnemosyne narrowed her eyes. "His memories are . . . I-I can't see . . ."

"What does that mean?" Batman asked her. "Can you not find them?"

"His memories seem to begin only a few days ago." She shook her head. "Let me try something else," she said, tugging a small, crystal vial from the folds of her gown next. She held it up to the light. In the vial was a pale lavender liquid.

"What is that?" Batman asked suspiciously.

"The water from the River Mnemosyne," she told him. "The river returns memories to any who drink from it."

Batman looked towards Diana. "Is it safe?"

Mnemosyne frowned, offended. "Of course, it is safe! If you do not wish my help, mortal . . ."

Diana soothed the overly-sensitive goddess. "Please," she said, "the child is his son. He cannot help but worry. He meant no offense."

Batman pressed his lips together but didn't contradict the Amazon. He didn't think she would lie outright, so he decided that maybe Diana was giving him more credit than he deserved. Truth was, he didn't trust anyone present other than Diana.

The Amazon princess took the vial from Mnemosyne and handed it to Batman. "You can give it to him yourself," she said gently.

He took that to mean that the water was safe and would do what the goddess claimed. Diana pulled the gold stopper from the crystal vial for him. Batman sniffed its contents, then dipped his finger in the liquid, tasting it. It had a hint of sweetness but didn't appear to be harmful. When Diana cleared her throat, he handed it to the boy.

"Drink this for me, Dickie," he said.

Dickie took the sparkling vial from his hand. "Peety!"

"You need to drink it, chum," he urged. "It will help you remember things."

"No wanna memor," Dick complained, handing it back.

Batman took the vial back and tipped it to his own lips, only taking a drop himself. "See? It isn't going to hurt you."

After a moment, Dick opened his mouth, allowing Bruce to hold the vial to his lips. He drank the rest of the liquid obediently.

As Batman handed the empty vial back, he had to blink as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Suddenly, visions from his own early childhood were flashing before his eyes. Visions of being rocked by his mother, of him trying to crawl, then toddling towards his father, his first day of school. These were intermixed with public events, scenes from his past, of training and fighting in the alleys, the briefest glimpse of a couple falling from a trapeze followed by flashes of he and Dick swinging over the streets of Gotham. Visions came to him of various crime scenes, including his parents' murder, all flying through his mind. Visual details of that night he had never noticed before stood out to him now like neon signs. Then there were the forgotten clues, and words spoken he hadn't remembered hearing because of his own grief and shock.

No. He needed to focus. This wasn't about him. Bruce shook his head to clear it, looking at his chronometer. What had felt like an hour had only been a minute in time. No wonder he'd felt dizzy. And this from just a mere drop of the liquid . . .

Dick had drunk the rest of the vial's contents. The boy's memories should be returning to him as well. He touched Dick's shoulder, but the boy didn't seem to notice him. Instead, Dick was holding his head in his hands, his eyes clenched tightly against the onslaught. If he was in pain or merely confused, Bruce couldn't tell.

"No, no, no," the boy held his hands up to his head. "Stop!"

"What's happening?" he snapped, glaring at Diana. This method was supposed to be gentle, not cause the boy pain.

"He's resisting," Mnemosyne murmured. She took the child from his arms, sitting him down on the marble steps leading up to Zeus' throne. She kneeled before him and tugged his hands down. "Look at me, little one. Show me what you see."

Dick shook his head, his breaths becoming ragged as he panted, but Mnemosyne would not be denied. She tilted the boy's face up to hers.

"Let me in," she whispered softly.

When Dickie opened his eyes, the color was the same as the river's water – pale lavender.

Mnemosyne stared into the depths, searching. "I-I can't find them. The memories are gone. It is as if they were never there to begin with."

"They must be there!" Bruce insisted.

She ignored his outburst and continued. "Those memories that do remain do not extend more than a few days. They are jumbled, disjointed. I will try to make sense of them."

Zeus leaned forward. "The earliest memories, tell me what you see!"

No one demanded she continue; they didn't have to. They simply waited as the goddess pressed further. The boy whimpered but, physically, he remained still as she delved deeper.

"We . . . We see . . . death. It is all around us, bodies everywhere. They are crumbling into dust and it swirls around our ankles. I can . . . taste it in my mouth, the dead." The goddess gagged as if experiencing this for herself. After a minute, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she returned to the memory.

"I see black wings, fluttering, flying around us. Ravens! Dozens of them, maybe more. The ravens are flying around our face, hitting us. We can feel talons tearing at us, and . . . and something else. Not something – _someone_ ; there is someone else here with us. Voices are speaking. They are powerful, like crashing waves. We can feel their rumbling inside our body. We are frightened. The voices, we realize that they could kill us with a word."

"What do they say?" Ares demanded to know.

"No! No, no, no, no!" Dick screamed. The child pulled away, although he couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from that of Mnemosyne's. "She _see_ me!"

"It is only pictures from the past, child," Mnemosyne soothed him. "No one can see you. You are safe there with me."

"There were more than one?" Zeus asked.

The goddess shook her head. "I do not think so. I only sensed the presence of one. The voices came from it."

Hades lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. "All of them?"

"Yes, but they were indistinct," she told them. "It said, 'I will save you', but that is all I could make out. This memory is too faded to make out more."

Dick's breathing was fast, on the edge of panic. The goddess paused, waiting for him to calm. The others were impatient, eager to know what words were spoken to the boy, but Mnemosyne would not be rushed.

When next she spoke, Mnemosyne was frowning. "I'm sorry. The memory is incomplete. The boy pulls away from it."

"What else do you see?" Zeus asked, intent on learning all he could.

"The scene is changing now. We see faces . . ."

"The Gray Woman?" Diana asked.

"No. Not a woman. Two men and another boy, an older one . . . We get a sense of safety here." Mnemosyne murmured. "Everything with the Gray Woman is shrouded. He fights this because she frightens him."

"You can hardly blame him. She exudes terror," Batman told them.

"Look again, Mnemosyne," Zeus ordered.

This time Mnemosyne placed her hands on the child's face. "It is nothing, just a memory. Nothing can hurt you there," she reminded him. "We can to do this together. I'll be there with you. You're not alone."

Dick didn't speak. When a single tear slid down his cheek, Diana laid a restraining hand on Bruce's arm as he moved to stop her.

"This is the reason why we came here," she reminded him. "I know it's distressing, but we're doing this to protect him, too."

Bruce forced his muscles to relax. They needed to do this but that didn't mean he had to like it. Grinding his teeth, he allowed the goddess of memory to continue probing Dick's mind, searching for some small scrap that would give them an edge that would enable them to defeat her, with luck, permanently this time.

"The memories he has are a bit jumbled. We are no longer on the rooftop nor in the depths of a cavern. We are in a room, alone. A small light gives some illumination, but the room is filled with shadows. Wait! They are moving." Mnemosyne frowned. "They are coalescing, forming a shape of a . . . a woman. She is moving around the bed, sitting down next to us."

"The goddess," Zeus determined, nodding.

"Now we get somewhere," Ares said.

Mnemosyne looked away a moment, shivering. "Forgive me," she said, trying to regain control of her emotions. "There is an overwhelming sense of terror attached to these memories."

Ares snorted derisively. "It is the boy's fear, not your own."

She threw him a look of disgust. "When I am in his mind, I experience this with him. The fear is mine as well. Do you think you could do as much in my place?"

"It is not my gift, Mnemosyne," Ares replied. "You know that."

She turned back to the child, leaning her forehead against his own and peered deeply into his mind. "Tell me, child. Tell me what she said to you."

Dick shuddered. "Nooo . . ."

"Again, the voices, like rushing waters . . . We are worried. There are others nearby, the other boy, the old man. She threatens them. Asks us what we would give to save them? We tell her . . ."

"What?" Batman leaned forward. "What did he promise her?"

"Himself . . ." Mnemosyne murmurs, confused. "He trades himself for the others."

Bruce hissed. "So, that is why she spared us?"

"Such altruism in one so young is unheard of," Poseidon marveled.

"He was a hero before this change," Diana told them.

"He remains one, it would seem," Hera said.

Dick was shaking now, however. He attempted to pull away. "Stop now."

"You cannot stop now," Ares growled. "We know nothing about her yet. Who is she? What does she want?"

"No wanna," Dickie cried. "Make it go 'way! I want go home."

Batman reached out but stopped before touching Mnemosyne. "Enough. Let him be."

"But, why is the child so important to her?" Hades asked. "Ares is correct. We could use him to draw her into a trap and put an end to this once and for all."

"All this talk and we don't even know her name," Zeus frowned.

"No name was given for her," Rhiannon said. "Only titles. The End of All. Destroyer. The Raven Empress . . ."

"Her name . . ." Mnemosyne caught up in the roiling memories answered, "She is called Destroyer . . . Dal 'Riata . . ."

"Noooo!" Dick pulled away. "She come!" He screamed. "She come!"

". . . Abn-La."

"Finally, a name to go with the threat," Zeus declared. "A name is power. We can use this."

Mnemosyne stared into the boy's eyes, enthralled with the memory of Dal' Riata Abn-La. The strange goddess was sitting on the edge of the bed speaking with them. She leaned down to speak once more into their ear when she stopped abruptly. Mnemosyne frowned as the memory seemed to stall here.

Then, within the memory, Dal 'Riata sat back and stared down at them oddly. Tilting her head, she frowned.

" **Who are you?"** the Gray Woman asked.

"She see me!" Dick cried, covering his face with his hands.

"No. She doesn't see you . . ." the goddess tried to reassure him, but she was confused. Something wasn't right.

Dal 'Riata's lips lifted into a knowing smile.

" **Mnemosyne."**

Mnemosyne jerked back, gasping. "What? But, that's impossible! This is only a memory . . . How can she see. . . _me_?!"

" **Remember. It was you who looked first."**

"Nooo! STOP!" She spun about suddenly, breaking the connection to the child as she threw her hands over her eyes. "Help me!"

Mnemosyne screamed as she stumbled away from the weeping boy. Batman scooped his son into his arms and backed away as the goddess fell to her knees, clawing at her eyes.

"She's _looking_ at me!" Mnemosyne continued to cry out. "She sees _me_!"

"Are you okay?" he asked the boy. Dick nodded absently. He, like everyone, was staring at the shrieking goddess hunched now at the foot of Zeus' throne in horror.

Mnemosyne's daughters ran to her side. Calliope and Polyhymnia each grasped one of her wrists, drawing the goddess' hands away from her face and cried out in shock. Mnemosyne's lovely blue eyes had turned an ashen-gray and were crumbling out of their sockets, the dust of which dribbled down her pale face.

"Blind!" Clio gasped in shock. "She's been blinded."

Hera came, kneeling beside them. "No! Not just blinded," the god-queen announced.

The gray was spreading over Mnemosyne's face and down her neck. The goddess' cries went ominously silent as her daughters screamed in her place. Calliope leapt to her feet in terror.

"My hands!" she cried out. "The gray, it _spreads_!" Her fingertips began to fall apart as the insidious gray color spread up her arms.

Polyhymnia's arms crumbled into the pile of dust that had been her mother. "I die!" she shrieked as she, too, lost her form seconds later.

Hera tried to move but her legs had already begun to change. "Zeus! Husband, help me!"

To his credit, Zeus tried to reach his wife when Hades pulled him away. "Look," the god of the underworld shouted. "It moves."

Tendrils of gray unfurled out from where the unlucky goddess had lain only a moment before. Each arm spread and extended outward, encompassing, changing everything, turning all that it touched to ash.

Poseidon backed away from the growing threat. "Your goddess destroys Olympus," he growled angrily. "You have killed us!"

Zeus' hand flashed as he summoned a bolt of lightning into existence. He hurled it at the gray area. It exploded and rained dust in all directions. Everything it touched began withering upon contact.

Batman jerked his grapple gun from his belt as he ran to the entrance. He shot it off, the anchor clamping firmly into the top of a nearby building. "We have to run," he yelled at the others. "Now!"

Diana grabbed the druid priestess up into her arms, flying back out of reach as the gray's expanse began to pick up speed. "To where? We have no way back," she announced upon the realization that Hermes had fled the palace without them.

Urania was scrambling toward the entrance. "Go to the fountain," she called to Diana, "at the gates! You can swim out."

 _Swim_? That made no sense, but they were out of time. Diana flew with the druidess in the direction of the city gates. Despite her longevity, the priestess was no more able to withstand the journey to and from Olympus than Batman or Dick. They needed another way out of here. They had no choice but to trust Urania.

"Hang on, Dickie," Bruce warned the boy before hitting the recoil, none too late. The gray swallowed the ground they had been standing on instantly.

"No!" Dick yelled. "Hippo! Need Hippo!"

And just like that, the pup's barking broke through the noises of screams and crashing monuments. Batman swung onto the portico of the nearest building and looked back. Hippo was barking wildly at the tendrils stretching towards her. She backed up, barely keeping ahead of the gray death.

"Hippo! Here, pup," he called to it. When the dog didn't look up, Bruce realized she still didn't know her own name. "Booger! Booger, come here! Call her, Dickie."

"Hippo!" Dickie screamed loud enough his voice cracked. "Booger!"

"She doesn't know her name, Dickie. She's too young. She doesn't know to come to you when you call yet." Bruce explained.

He grabbed Dick's pajama top when he tried to go back for the dog. "No, Dick. We're too high up. You can't go back for her, son. It's too dangerous."

"Noooo, Hippo!" Dick screamed as Bruce picked him up again. "Noooo!"

Diana was already out of sight, carrying the priestess to the fountain near the gates. She wouldn't be able to return and get to the pup in time. He hadn't wanted the dog when Barry had given it to the boys, but he hadn't wanted anything bad to happen to it either. He didn't look back when Hippo's barking stopped abruptly. His only thought was to get Dick out of there, hopefully without having to witness his pet's demise.

"I'm sorry, Dickie," he said as he aimed his grapple at the next building. A long arm of the gray stretched in their direction. "I'm so sorry."

The gray sped over the mountainous city, destroying buildings and parks that had been perched there for tens of thousands of years, reducing it to ash in seconds. Batman didn't dare hesitate as he raced the destruction, didn't risk the time it would take to glance behind him. They would either escape or die.

He held Dick tightly in one arm, trying to ignore the frightened, miserable sobs the child was making against his neck. His suit was water-resistant, so for the moment, he was saved feeling the hot wash of tears on his skin.

 _I shouldn't have brought them_ , he thought savagely. _They should be home right now, safe in bed_. Even if Dick slept in the laundry room with his dog, it would have been better than the nights that now lay ahead of them while the boy grieved.

He wondered how many of the gods had escaped. It happened so quickly, spread so fast, Batman hadn't been able to see who amongst those present had been caught by the Gray Woman's power. Would this spur the survivors to aid them, if only for a chance at revenge? Or, would they run as had the Celts and the Fae had? And, what chance did mankind have, and the universe, for that matter, without them?

It was too early to be thinking about that. They had to get out of here, get to safety. He hoped Diana got the priestess back to the League. They could use her experience and knowledge to plan, maybe come up with another trick or two that would save them again.

The music of this place had been replaced by an eerie crumbling sound, punctuated by shrieks, groans, and the occasional sharp crack. The singing from before had been replaced by screams.

 _The screams of gods . . . How in trouble were you when even the gods themselves were screaming_ _in terror_?

Batman saw the gate up ahead, the place where they arrived. Urania had told them to go to a fountain near the gate to escape Olympus. They were almost there now. Two or three minutes out. Hopefully, they had enough time to locate the fountain the muse had spoken of.

"Almost there, Dickie!" He yelled to be heard over the noises and the boy's weeping. "Just hang on, son. We're going to be alright." Dick nodded; Bruce could feel it against his shoulder.

They were swinging towards the next building when his grapple line gave way as their anchor disintegrated. They were still twenty feet up in the air when it happened. Batman curled around the child in an effort to protect the boy from the incoming collision. His back, shoulder, and hip took most of the impact, the force of it jarring his teeth together. His suit, thankfully, managed to absorb the brunt of it, protecting his bones from shattering but not his flesh from bruising as they rolled to a stop.

No time!

Bruce sat up, immediately checking Dick for injuries even as he climbed to his feet.

"You okay?" he asked, breathless.

"Kay," Dick stammered, stunned by their crash into the marble steps. The shock did stop his tears, however.

Bruce glanced back as he staggered down the steps. The building the grapple had been secured to was disappearing in a cloud of fine gray dust.

 _We're not going to make it_! Barely had the thought registered when he saw a flash of movement out of his peripheral.

"Wonder Woman," he gasped, holding the child out to her. "Take him. Go!"

Dick looked startled and immediately began clawing at him as he struggled to hold on.

"Nooo!" he shrieked.

"Hang on to him," Diana ordered. "I'm taking you both."

Bruce grit his teeth in pain as the Amazon grasped him under his arms, and the next moment they were flying again, just a bare instant before the steps they were on dissolved into the same powder that was taking the rest of the mountain. Then she was setting them down next to a large ornate fountain carved of gold. Rhiannon stood beside it, waiting, and looking a hell of a lot calmer than Bruce might have expected. But, she wasn't a mere priestess then, was she? No, she was as much of a warrior as any Amazon.

"Hurry," Rhiannon called to them.

Diana set Bruce onto his feet, looking at them for the first time. What was missing? She frowned. "Where is the . . .?"

Bruce shook his head. "Don't say it," he warned, his gaze sweeping over the shell-shocked boy.

Sadness followed the realization. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"We need to go," he snapped.

The gray was moving towards them like the giant swell of an ocean wave. His hand darted to his belt and came up with two rebreathers. The fountain was dark at its center, hinting at hidden depths.

He looked at the druid. "Can you swim? I don't know how far or how long this will take to get through."

Rhiannon looked hesitant for the first time. "I-I don't know how . . ."

"I'll get you through it," Diana promised the other woman.

Bruce handed her his rebreather. "Take this and put it in your mouth. You'll be able to breathe through it for several minutes."

She shook her head. "Thank you but no. That is yours. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine just as long as your Amazon friend can get me through to the other side."

"Don't forget this," a familiar voice said.

They spun around to find Urania standing there with Hippo snuggled in her arms, none the worse for wear despite a covering of gray dust marring its once shiny black coat. At the sight of the boy, the pup immediately began squirming for release.

"Hippo!" Dick squealed in relief, reaching for his pet.

"Urania. I'm sorry," Batman began.

"As am I," Urania said.

The priestess took the dog from the boy. "You need to hang onto your father, child. I'll hang onto this one for you," she offered. "I promise, I won't him go."

"The dog could drown before we reach the other side," Diana worried.

Rhiannon shook her head. "I'll handle this one. You don't live centuries with the Fae without picking up a few things."

She scooped a handful of water and covered the animal's snout, but instead of choking the pup, a bubble formed around the dog's nose and mouth. She repeated the process over her own face with the same magical results, providing a bubble of air.

Urania pointed to the fountain. "Dive down and follow the cavern to the end," she instructed.

Rhiannon nodded, grabbing Diana's arm and stepped into the water. She began to sink below the surface.

"Go!" Batman ordered. "We'll be right behind you."

"You better be," Diana warned before diving into the pool next.

The gray was engulfing the street across from them. Batman kneeled in front of the boy, showing him the rebreather. "You put this into your mouth and breathe through it. Do you understand? Don't breathe through your nose or you'll drown. Breathe only through this." He explained. "Once we're in the water, don't take it out."

Dickie nodded, but Urania stopped him from taking the device.

"I promised," she explained, turning the boy to face her. "Open your mouth for me, Dickie. Quickly, before it gets here."

Dick looked up and, at Bruce's nod, opened his mouth to the muse. She laid her thumb on the boy's tongue for a moment, then she turned him back to Batman.

"My sisters are dead. I could only gift him with the speech of an average child this age. I'm sorry. It's the best I can do," she told him even as Urania faded out of existence in front of them. " _Now go_! _Hurry_! The gray is here!"

And it was.

The gray slithered closer, overtaking the fountain's edge. Tendrils reached toward their feet. Were they too late to escape? Had the seconds it had taken to receive Urania's gift just doomed them both to death? He reached for the boy. They would have to risk the dive anyway.

"Look, Bruce," Dick said. "It's going away."

He looked despite himself and blinked. Dick was touching the fountain's golden edge and the gray had stopped, hovering nearly a foot from the child's hand. The boy slid his hand suddenly in the direction of the gray.

"Dick, no!"

But, remarkably, the gray retreated before the child could touch it. Dickie laughed, his touch chasing the gray back. He stomped one tiny tennis shoe on a patch of gray and they watched as the powerful force seemed to leap away from him, creating a safe zone around the two of them and the fountain they needed for their return to earth, even as the rest of Olympus crumbled away. The mountain, the city, even the sunlight had disappeared. All that remained was them and the fountain, floating in a sea of nothingness.

Was this what was in store for the universe if they couldn't find a way to stop the Gray Woman? Terror gripped his heart and Bruce looked around them for the goddess' presence. When he couldn't find any telltale movement in the dark surrounding them, he pulled himself together. Dick was staring up at him with worried eyes, no longer enjoying the game of keeping the gray at bay.

Bruce searched the depths of the fountain but couldn't see more than a few feet from the surface. Did the path still exist within its waters? All he knew for sure was that they couldn't remain here. The familiar fear that churned in his gut warned of the goddess' imminent return. If they stayed, she would come. He was certain of it.

He spun Dick around to face him. The boy, too, was feeling it. Dick shivered, glancing around them worriedly. He lifted the rebreather again to regain the child's attention.

"Dick, look at me. Remember what I said? I'm going to put this in your mouth. You breathe through it, not your nose. Do you hear me?" he instructed. "Say it."

"I breathe through my . . . mouth," Dick repeated. "Not my nose."

It appeared as though Urania's gift had worked.

"Very good," he said. "Do not take it out until we are out of the water. Do you understand me?"

Dick nodded. "Are we going to swim?"

"We are. That's the only way home."

"I want to go home."

Bruce slipped the rebreather into the boy's mouth. "Me too," he said as he picked Dick up and stepped into the pool.

The ground they had been standing on fell away, leaving only the fountain now. Bruce shivered this time and hoped Dick didn't notice. They began to sink beneath the water.

"Here we go." Bruce said, putting his rebreather in at the last possible moment.

The water closed over their heads. The weight of his suit dragged them down into the depths beneath the fountain, and what little light that had remained at the surface was extinguished. He pulled a flashlight out of his belt. Turning it on, he handed it to Dickie to hold, wrapping the boy's hands around it securely and angled it in the direction they were going to go.

It wasn't difficult at first. His free arm and feet worked hard, propelling them through what appeared to be an underwater cavern. Shells and stones glittered in the walls as the light fell on them. Batman used outcroppings to pull them along where he could. At least Dick wasn't panicking yet. He glanced back behind them and discovered that the nothingness was following them, just a few meters beyond their feet.

His heart skipped a beat as he worried abruptly that they would lead the gray to earth, but he had no other choice now. They couldn't go back, and they couldn't remain here. Their rebreathers weren't designed to last indefinitely.

Speaking of which, he checked his chronometer in his glove. He wondered how much further they would need to travel because they only had another minute or two left before they would be forced to hold their breath for the remainder of the dive.

Dick began to squirm against him. He felt, more than heard, the sounds of the child's whimpers. Dick reached up and batted at his rebreather. His quick little breaths had worked through the device's ability to filter out carbon dioxide faster than it might have if he'd remained calm. Bruce couldn't blame him, however. The boy couldn't remember his training, couldn't remember his experiences using the rebreather while diving. Dick wasn't Robin right now. He wasn't even Nightwing. He was just a scared little boy who thought he was going to die down here in the dark.

When Dick's rebreather fell away, Batman quickly replaced it with his own. It would only give the child a handful of breaths more. He redoubled his efforts, feeling the burn in his thighs and his shoulder match that in his lungs. _How much longer_? Bruce was feeling the effects of CO building in his own bloodstream.

He couldn't believe that the goddess would have protected Dickie from the gray death only to allow him to drown. He had to believe the end was just around the next bend. The cavern began to dim around them. Was his flashlight failing? The battery had been fully charged and made to last up to forty-eight hours of continuous use.

As the darkness swallowed his vision, Bruce realized he was about to lose consciousness. His lungs fought him, and it was everything he could do not to suck in great gulps of water.

He couldn't die . . . If he died, Dick would surely follow! Insanely, part of his mind hoped the goddess would rescue his son if Bruce failed him.

 _No_! _NO_! _Don't take him_ . . .

He barely registered an arm slipping around his waist, pulling him forward as unconsciousness overcame him.

* * *

Pain . . .

In his chest . . . his lungs . . .

He vomited, gasped, and coughed . . . and coughed.

He rolled onto his side to better evacuate the water from inside of him. He blinked but his vision was disrupted with large black spots dancing in front of him. His ears were ringing but he could make out other sounds muted and far away behind the high-pitched noise.

Slowly, the ringing eased, and the black spots faded. He noted the sandy rocks and shells beneath him. A hand on his shoulder steadied him. There was a weight on his back, not heavy but solid.

The first sounds he heard were those of a child crying, then . . .

"Easy. Take deep breaths . . ."

Diana.

"Bruce! Don't go. Don't leave me!" Dick's words were punctuated with gasps and sobs.

Dick? . . . _Dick_!

He moved, turning over onto his back once more. The weight moved out of his way only to return to chest. " _Oof_!"

"Dick, move back," Diana ordered. "Give him a chance to catch his breath."

"Dick!" he croaked. _God, his lungs hurt_ . . . "Where?"

"Take it easy, Bruce," Diana told him. "We're in a grotto somewhere in the Mediterranean is my best guess."

When he blinked again, Diana's form solidified above him.

"Dick's right here. He's fine. A little waterlogged, maybe, but fine," she said, knowing that knowledge was the only thing that would calm him down. "It's a good thing I returned for you when I did. You almost made it. You weren't all that far away from the end of the cavern when I found you, thank Hera . . ." Her breath caught as she realized what she said.

And, he remembered. Hera, Mnemosyne, Poseidon, the muses . . . They were all dead. Except for Urania, he had no idea if Zeus, Ares, Artemis, or Hades had managed to escape the goddess' wrath.

"Dick?" Where was the boy? He couldn't relax until he saw him.

"Here I am," Dick yelped after scrabbling around to his other side. "You scared me!"

The boy was sopping wet, his hair dripping onto Bruce's face. The water running down his chubby cheeks, he suspected, were as much tears as the grotto's water. He reached up and dragged the boy down to him as Dick wept softly against his chest.

Bruce glanced at the water behind him nervously. His memories of being pursued by the nothingness returned, and he sat up abruptly with a grunt of pain, holding Dick against him in case they needed to flee again.

"You nearly drowned, Bruce," Diana scolded him. "You need to rest a moment."

When the water merely lapped at his ankles and the grotto remained intact, he looked around him. Rhiannon sat on a rock not far from the entrance, holding Hippo in her lap. Her wet robe was draped over another boulder to dry. From the looks of it, it would take several hours to accomplish. However, while the pup looked damp, it appeared none the worse for wear for its adventure. Sunlight shone through the opening, telling him that morning had arrived in this part of the world. They needed to get back to Gotham and contact the League.

"I worried. You wouldn't wake up," Dick finally told him as he leaned back to face him. "Diana had to push your chest. Sh-She blew air in your mouth." He made a face. "Ick."

That explained the pain in his chest. She might have fractured something in her bid to resuscitate him. He ran a hand over his head, realizing his cowl had been removed at some point.

"So, you _are_ a man," Rhiannon murmured from her spot. "You just dress like a demon."

Ignoring her, Bruce smiled at Dick. "I'm fine now," he reassured the boy. "But, we need to find a way home from here, wherever here is."

His gaze moved back to the druid, recalling her distrust of Dick. The boy was immune to the gray. Batman didn't pretend that this was a natural thing. The Gray Woman bestowed this immunity to him when she 'blessed' him. His lips tightened on this information. He knew without saying that distrust would rise up against the child in light of this new information. Dick feared the goddess, probably more than any of them, but there was a chance that the Gray Woman could use her mark to observe them. He would have to be careful where Dick was concerned.

If he could test this theory without endangering anyone . . . Otherwise, he would have to lay out their plans outside of the boy's hearing, all without alerting anyone to his own suspicions. He needed their support to keep Dick safe, and he didn't want to worry about turning the League against them in the process.

The druid let the dog go as she stood up. Hippo rushed over to jump on him, licking Bruce in the face before he could stop her. The last of Dick's tears dried up at the sight as he laughed at the pup's antics. Bruce held the dog as he climbed to his feet. Diana steadied him until she was sure he wouldn't collapse. He passed off Hippo off to her and pulled his cowl back over his face.

"I could call the invisible jet, but it will take a while to get here," Diana offered.

"I can help with that," Rhiannon said. "Now that we're back on earth, I can use the portal to get us wherever we need to go."

"What portal is that?" Diana asked warily.

"The portal leads to Faery. It is a gentler, safer method of travel than underwater channels," the priestess assured them. "I merely cross over to the Fae's land and then open another portal to the place I wish to be. We'll step out to your home, wherever that may be."

"Why didn't you use this portal to escape Olympus, then?" Batman asked.

She shrugged. "The goddess' power interfered with opening the portal. It was a safeguard that Queen Mab insisted upon when she granted me access. It was a way to prevent the goddess from following me back to Faery. The way is calm here. It should prove no problem to move through the veil and back now."

"Let's get moving, then," Batman insisted.

He took Dickie's hand and moved out of the grotto's cave and onto the beach. The warmth of the sun and gentle breeze reiterated Wonder Woman's statement. They were nowhere near Gotham City. Rhiannon picked up her sopping cloak, draping over one arm as she followed him out into the sunshine.

"What do you need to open a portal?" Diana asked.

The priestess smiled, pulling a red stone from a pouch on her belt. "Naught but this," she told them. "The firestone can open the portal as well as allow me to communicate in any language."

She made a complicated design in the air with her hand and then, as she began drawing around it, a shimmering line like a gold band appeared, following her hand's motions until the circle was complete. Looking through the portal was like looking through a window or a doorway into a completely new land. An unending field of grass could be seen with giant, craggy oaks dotting the landscape on the other side. Without a word, Rhiannon stepped through the image, the air wavered at her passing.

Diana met Batman's gaze before laying a hand over the hilt of her sword, then she too, stepped through the portal and into another dimension.

"Are we going in there, too?" Dickie asked nervously.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

Batman squeezed the boy's hand, leading the boy through the portal and into the land of Faery. "It's our way home, Dick," he said.

 _I hope_ . . .

* * *

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	23. Questions & Answers

**When last we met, Batman, Wonder Woman, Dickie and Hippo, as well as the newly-found druid priestess, Rhiannon, barely escaped the destruction of Olympus and its gods. Batman returned to the earth with yet another secret he planned to keep hidden from the rest, the knowledge that not only was Dickie immune to the destructive powers of the Gray Woman, but also that it was possible she might be able to see and hear through the boy's eyes and ears everything that went on around him. Would this turn friend to foe? He didn't know, nor did he wish to find out.**

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?" Jason yelled. "Do you know how worried we were?"

"What has happened, sir," Alfred asked, laying a calming hand on the teenager's shoulder, "that you would risk entering through the front door of the manor in full garb?"

Batman, carrying a sleeping child on his shoulder, stepped further into the foyer to allow the others to enter. Wonder Woman came through next carrying a sleeping puppy. She handed the small dog off to Jay, none the worse for wear for her adventure to Olympus. As Jason gathered the pup in his arms, she raised a sleepy head to lick his chin before resting her head along his arm.

"Olympus is gone," Batman murmured. Like the dog and the boy, he felt drained. All he wanted to do was sleep, but the threat of the Gray Woman was greater than ever. She had a name now, however, and he was determined to learn everything he could about her.

"Olympus?" Jason gaped. "You mean like the Greek gods Olympus? You went there without me?"

Diana looked stricken but gathered herself together. She grieved for the loss of the gods she had served for thousands of years, but there was no time for that now, not with the earth depending on them.

"It was the Gray Woman," she told them. "She destroyed it all and the gods with it."

"Good heavens, my sympathies, Lady Diana," Alfred gasped. "But one must wonder, if the gods could not stop her, what can we do?"

"That is the question, is it not?"

Alfred and Jason turned to see a hooded figure enter the manor warily. She looked up and around at the room, taking in the marble columns marking the entry into the rest of the house and the grand staircase that led to a second-floor landing that separated the two wings of the home. She lowered the hood and removed the cloak that looked as though it had seen better days.

Remembering himself, Alfred moved up to the entry to take the garment from her and, after a quick glance outside for any other guests, he closed the door behind her. "Allow me to take that for you, madam. If you would like, I can see what I can do to tidy it up for you."

Smiling, she allowed Alfred to fold the cloak over one arm. "Thank you. That is kind of you."

Jason frowned at the sight of her broadsword hanging from one hip. He easily spotted the two daggers she had sheathed in her leather belt.

"Who are you?"

"Manners, young sir," Alfred reminded him gently. "Whoever she is, she is a guest in this house." He paused by Batman. "Do you need me to take the boy and put him to bed for you?"

Batman shook his head. "I'll put him down when I go up to shower. This is the priestess, Rhiannon. She is the one we had been searching for. She was present when the Gray Woman was first trapped inside the stone. If you would, show Diana and our guest where they can rest and clean up and perhaps some breakfast would be welcome."

Rhiannon looked at the teen with interest. "Is this another son?"

Jay scowled, but Bruce shoved off his cowl and ruffled Jason's hair affectionately with is free hand. "Yes. This is Jason."

Caught off guard by the implication behind the simple introduction, Jason gaped at his mentor. "Wha?"

"Jason, can you take Hippo outside for a walk," Bruce interrupted the grilling he knew he was in store for.

Jay blinked, reigning in his burning questions for another. "Who's Hippo? Do you mean Booger?"

A brief smile lifted the edges of Diana's mouth at the memory. "Dickie renamed her after meeting my mother, Hippolyta," she explained.

"He named the dog after your mother, Lady Diana?" Alfred looked appalled. "I truly hope her majesty was not offended. He is just a child."

"If I'm not mistaken, Alfred, I would say she was honored as Dickie is so obviously enamored with his pup," Diana assured him.

Jason glanced down at the sleepy bit of fur in his arms. "Huh, better than Booger, I suppose."

Dick lifted his head; pulling his thumb from his mouth, he pointed at the dog. "Not Hippo," he said, wearily. "Ur-Anus."

"My word," Alfred shot the child a look as Jason burst out laughing. "I simply must protest. We do not speak of such things in mixed company. Booger as a name for one's pet was quite awful enough. We will not replace it with vulgarity."

Diana's smile returned as she calmed the ruffled butler. "I think he means to re-name her after Urania, one of the Greek muses." She leaned over, taking Dick's hand in her own. "Her name is Urania, Dickie."

"That's enough," Bruce said, finally putting his foot down. "You cannot keep changing the dog's name every few hours. We almost lost her because she was confused and didn't know her name. One name, Dickie. You must choose just one name and it sticks."

"You almost lost her?" Jason hugged the little dog closer. "You mean, you took her to Olympus with you, too?" It was obvious that the older boy was feeling left out of the excitement and resenting it.

"Urania saved the dog from the Gray Woman's wrath," Rhiannon explained. "The pup would have perished without her aid."

Jason closed his mouth, remembering their own encounters with the Gray Woman. The memories alone made his heart skip a beat in fear of ever having to face her again.

"One name, and it may not be _that_ one, despite her heroism," Bruce said again. There was no room for give in this demand.

Dickie sighed, laying his head back down on Bruce's shoulder. He pointed at the pup with one finger. "Hippo."

Alfred nodded, satisfied. It might not be the best name for the animal, but it was a fair sight better than 'Booger' or, he suppressed a shudder, 'Ur-Anus'.

"Now then, if you ladies will follow me," Alfred motioned to the stairs, "I will show you where you can retire for a few hours."

Diana waved her hand. "Not for me, Alfred, thank you. I need to head back to Themyscira."

Bruce paused at the bottom of the steps. "You will return later? We have much to discuss and not nearly enough time to prepare."

"Of course," Diana said. "I will return with the rest of the League in six hours."

Bruce hesitated, clearly wanting to protest. They all needed to recuperate, at least the time would give him the opportunity to do a little research. "I'm certain they came through it alright. We left before she showed herself."

Diana bowed her head in acknowledgement. What he said was likely true, but she wouldn't be able to rest until she stepped on the island and saw her mother and sisters for herself.

"Until later," she said, opening the door and stepping out. "In the meantime, you both should take a hint from the little one and get some rest."

* * *

Alfred motioned to the priestess to follow him. "If you wish, I can launder your gown," he said as a question, "along with your cloak. I can find you something to wear in the interim."

Rhiannon noticed the Batman took his sons in the opposite direction than the way the servant was taking her. He opened the second door down and walked into a bedroom. He disappeared into another room off to one side and she was surprised when light suddenly poured across the floor. _Had he opened a window in there_? But, when she glanced in, there was no window. The light was coming from three glass containers attached above the most miraculous mirror. Not a blemish could be seen in the great plate that hung on the wall.

She touched it with her hand. "Amazing . . . The world is much changed from when I last walked its fields. Is the Batman a sorcerer then?" she asked pointing at the lights.

Alfred turned from the cupboard with a most luxurious blanket. He set it on the marble countertop with a bowl carved right into it. "No, my lady. He is but a man."

"Somehow, I doubt that," she murmured.

The servant smiled a secretive smile, a twinkle in his eye. "Ah, but I never said he was an _ordinary_ man."

He studied her for a moment. It wasn't uncomfortable. She could see he was taking her measure. "I think that much has changed indeed, if what I remember hearing about you was correct."

He leaned over and touched a small stick jutting from the wall near the door and flicked it. They were immediately plunged into darkness. He flicked it again and light once again filled the room.

"This is the light switch," he explained. "It sends a small jolt of electricity into the wires within the glass bulbs there. When they heat up, they glow bright, and voila! You have light."

She touched the switch herself and the darkness engulfed them once more before she flicked it up and the light returned. "Simply amazing . . ."

"Without a doubt, madam." he smiled. He then opened a practically invisible door that led to a tiny tiled room. "And, here we have what is called a shower. Turn this knob and water will flow from the spigot above you. This character means cold water while this one here stands for hot. It is best when the knob lands halfway between the two."

Rhiannon gaped. "A fountain indoors? Specifically, for bathing?"

The servant took several bottles from the cupboard next. "This one," he told her, "is a body wash. The name explains its purpose. And these are shampoo and conditioner, and they are meant for your hair. You use the shampoo first and then the conditioner," he said, pointing from one to the other. "Rinse them out thoroughly and you will feel clean and refreshed." He placed them inside the shower and turned the knob for the spray before hanging the small blanket over a rod. "This is your towel for drying yourself. You will find combs and toothbrushes inside the drawer. I will lay out something clean for you to wear while I take care of your things. When they are clean and pressed, I will return them to you."

Rhiannon glanced in the drawer he indicated curiously. She noted the comb but picked up the stick with short bristles jutting out. "This is . . ..?"

"The toothbrush, my lady."

She stared at it in wonder, running a thumb over the stiff bristles. She found herself curious over the type of boar these came from. "A brush for the teeth. How odd. We used a green twig, fraying the ends to run over our teeth as necessary."

Alfred picked up the toothpaste and laid it on the counter. "I think you'll find our twigs much improved. You may use a small dollop of the paste in this tube on the brush. It will help to clean your teeth and freshen your breath."

Rhiannon picked up the tube, and after a moment, discovered how to uncap it. "It smells of mint," she declared, holding it to her nose. Suddenly, the paste inside spurted out in a rush, landing on her nose, the rest plopping on the counter and floor.

"Oh!" she squealed, both startled and elated by her discovery.

The servant smoothly pulled out a wispy-thin bit of cloth from a small box on the counter, using it to wipe up the mess.

"I'm sorry," she said. She might have been embarrassed at wasting the precious paste, but her eyes caught the steam rising in the tiled room beyond. "By the gods, tis true! The water _is_ hot."

"Indeed," Alfred agreed, dropping the tissue in the wastebasket. He turned to excuse himself only to discover that the woman had unfastened and propped her blade along the wall and was in the process of stripping her gown over her head. He turned his back abruptly. "Oh my! I beg your pardon, miss. I didn't realize. I'll leave you to it, then."

Rhiannon caught his arm before he could escape out of the bathroom and draped her gown over his arm. She beamed cheerfully at him, comfortable in both her own skin and in his presence.

"If the world crumbles to dust tomorrow, I will die happy that I had a chance to experience the wonders of your time with its magic electrical lights, bathing fountains, and little brushes made especially for one's teeth."

Alfred blinked as she ducked inside the shower stall and quickly ducked his head as he quit the small room.

"Ooh, this is _lovely_ ," the priestess could be heard singing merrily as she splashed beneath the spray.

* * *

Alfred gathered her things for her, closing the door behind him gratefully. He was getting too old for surprises such as this. Bad enough what Master Bruce put him through on a regular basis. Naked women cavorting in the shower was something else again. At least, the women that used to overnight here years ago had had a modicum of modesty.

Shaking his head, Alfred made his way toward the stairs. He still needed to retrieve something suitable for the woman to wear before she finished her shower. It wouldn't do if she decided to show up to breakfast in naught but her skin and a towel. Master Jason might be appreciative as a teenaged boy, but he was still a boy all the same.

Of course, Jason was a son of the manor while he, Alfred, was but a mere servant in her eyes. This, he was certain, had been the reason she hadn't thought twice about stripping in front of him. As naught but the hired help, a woman of her status would have seen him as chattel, belonging to his master much like a yoke of oxen would have two thousand years ago. If the priestess remained here at the manor for more than a day, he would need to clear that misconception up post haste.

* * *

Jason watched as Alfred led their visitor, the priestess that Fae chick had been going on about, up the stairs and to the visitor's wing. He hadn't missed the chain mail or the weapons she had been carrying on her person. What kind of priestess was decked out for war like some kind soldier from the Dark Ages?

Questions raged in his mind. Booger, or Hippo, had tucked her face under a paw, ready to go back to sleep after her adventure. Making his decision, he followed Bruce, determined to get answers.

"Is it safe for Alfred," he asked, "being alone with that woman?"

Bruce hummed a response, not wanting to disturb Dick after the traumatic night he had gone through. He waved Jason forward.

"She is not our enemy, Jason" he murmured softly to the boy. "I have hopes that she may have the knowledge, if not the means, of recapturing the Gray Woman."

"Is she really two thousand-years-old?" the teen asked. She looked younger than Bruce.

"Older," Bruce told him as he opened the door to his room and waved the boy through.

"You're not going to put him in my room?" Jason asked, moving through the doorway.

"No. Not yet, at least," Bruce said as he gently laid the boy on the bed. He pulled a decorative throw on the end of the bed up and over the child. "He may have nightmares, and I want to keep him close while I shower and change."

Jason shut the door behind him. "Sooo," he drew out the word as he gathered his courage to ask his next question, "What did you mean downstairs? When that woman asked if I were another son," he clarified.

He already knew Bruce thought of Dick in that fashion, but he and Bruce, they had only known each other for a few months. That was hardly enough time to determine if Batman thought Jay had it in him to be a good partner, let alone if Bruce liked him well enough to continue sharing his home with the dirty street urchin he had caught trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile.

Bruce ran a hand over Dickie's hair in an affectionate manner that seemed odd for a guy who beat people up as a hobby. Jason felt his heart speed up when Bruce turned his gaze to him. He had touched Jason's hair in the same way earlier. The teen still didn't know what to make of that, but oddly enough, he felt a sliver of fear. He suddenly didn't want to hear that it had all been for show, for the stranger in their midst, but he had opened his big mouth already. It was too late to take it back. He shoved down the sudden urge to run away.

"Yes, I was wanting to talk to you about that," Bruce said. He waved Jason to the set of wing chairs near the window. "You can put Hippo down next to Dickie. She looks as done in as the boy."

Jason shored up his courage once more and made his way over. There was a fine tremor in his hands as he sat down across from the man. He should not care about so much for Bruce in so short of time, but in the span of nearly four months, this man had somehow become the most important person in the young teen's entire world.

He wanted to plug his ears, but he wasn't no coward. Jay tucked his hands under his thighs.

"I made mistakes the first time around," Bruce admitted, his eyes flitting over to the child in his bed. "Did things and said things that I never should have said; didn't do things or say things that I should have."

He looked at Jason, then. Leaning over, he breached the space between them and laid his big hand over the youth's shoulder. "I have a chance to correct those mistakes. I have a chance to do things right this time around - with Dick and, if you'll allow me, with you, too."

Jason blinked, unsure of what to say. There was a buzzing in his ears. "I-I don't . . ."

"I want to adopt you, Jason, as my son – you and Dick. I never did that the first time around with him and I regret that now. I don't want to regret that with you."

Jason glanced over at the dark-headed boy on the bed, but Bruce squeezed his shoulder, bringing his attention back to him.

"Jason, did you hear me? I want to adopt you. I want you to be my son."

" _Both_ of us," Jay said.

"Yes, of course." Bruce nodded. "Both of you."

"What you mean is that you want to adopt the kid and you don't want me feel left out in the cold," Jason blurted, a scowl crossing his face.

"I wouldn't adopt you just to spare your feelings, Jason. If I didn't want you here, I would have taken you to an orphanage and seen to it that you were cared for. I wouldn't have brought you home," Bruce stated honestly. "And, I brought you here because I saw something in you. I still do. This is important, I believe, to us. You, me . . . _and_ Dickie. We can be more than just partners, however. We can be a family – if you let us."

"You're not just saying that?"

Bruce sighed and stood up. "I'm not just saying it. Look, please just think about it. I need to shower. Keep an eye on your brother, will you?" he said, patting Jason on the back.

 _Brother_?

Jason stood up slowly, walking back to the bed as Bruce turned the shower on in the bathroom. Dickie had curled up into a ball and was sucking on his thumb furiously as Hippo snoozed against his back. Jason had to remind himself that he didn't like this kid, that Dickie was an asshole when he was older and had humiliated Jason in front of Bruce on purpose just to make him look bad. However, almost as soon as the uncharitable thought emerged, the conversation from that night, if you could call it that, flitted through his head.

Dick Grayson had warned Bruce that Jason wasn't ready to go out on the street. It was kind of hard to argue he was wrong when Dick had so thoroughly beaten Jason in just a few minutes. The guy hadn't even broken a sweat while doing it. As much as Jason wanted Dick to have been wrong about him, he wasn't. Jay wasn't so stubborn he couldn't admit this in his mind, although hell would freeze over before he would ever say it out loud.

If he were honest, Jason would admit that Grayson might have even been a little angry out of concern for _him_ \- _if_ he were being honest. Personally, as much as Jay wanted to believe that the entire argument he overheard was only the older boy's jealousy at being replaced, Grayson had made some valid points. Then there had been Bruce's anger toward him afterwards. As much as he wanted to blame Dick for that as well, the truth was that Bruce had told him to go upstairs and get ready for bed after training, something that Jason had not only ignored but gone a step further, trying on the Robin costume – Dick's costume – without permission. How must have that looked to the older boy to come home and find a stranger in your dad's house wearing your duds?

And, for all that Bruce had never adopted Dick Grayson, these last several days had proven that Bruce was Dick's father, if not in blood, then at the very least in spirit. If anyone was jealous of that relationship, bad as it might have been before these fantastical events, it was Jason.

Jason sighed, climbing up on the bed next to the now much-younger boy and his dog. Propping a pillow, he leaned back against it as he contemplated the large jagged turn his life had abruptly taken. Bruce had already admitted days ago that he had planned to keep the kid and raise him a second time. Whether or not his and Batman's initial agreement of a partnership had been still in effect, the teen hadn't looked for nor expected an offer of adoption to come his way. Bruce had never indicated at any time in the preceding months that he was considering making Jason a permanent fixture in his home. The agreement had been set as a trial period for the both of them.

Why had Bruce changed his mind?

 _Is it the kid_? Had Dickie brought out a paternal side in the man now that he was all short and cute, and now Jason was going to reap the benefits of this from the simple expedient of proximity? Bruce couldn't adopt the brat without also adopting Jason without looking like an asshole? The idea of being an afterthought was more than Jay could take at the moment.

The sound of water ceased in the background. Bruce's shower had ended. He'd be coming out soon and wanting to talk some more. Dickie whined but didn't wake. The kid was exhausted. He wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. Jason could slip away before Bruce came out of the bathroom without worry. He slipped back off the bed. Booger, or Hippo, whatever the dog's name was now, raised her head, tail thumping.

"Sh. Go back to sleep." Jay patted the pup's head and pushed it back down. Hippo didn't protest and sighed as it snuggled closer to Dickie's body. Even the dog preferred the child to Jason.

Jason slipped out of the room. He needed to think but he couldn't do that in here.

* * *

Bruce came out in a pair of pajama bottoms. He hadn't worn pajamas since he was Jason's age, but now his drawers were filled with them. He had noticed that they all resembled the pajamas that he had seen the boys wearing. His mouth quirked at the slyness of one sentimental British butler. One tended to forget the giant heart that hid beneath that proper demeanor and stiff upper lip most of the time.

He was a little disappointed that Jason wasn't in the room when he entered but wasn't surprised. He had sprung his decision on the prickly teenager without warning. He decided to let the boy brood over the idea of belonging to another family for a while. Hopefully, it wouldn't take Jason as long as it had taken him to become comfortable with the it.

Dickie hadn't moved from his position since Bruce had laid him down. Hippo looked up at him and wagged her tail in welcome. It was a testament to their adventure that the pup hadn't taken the opportunity to follow Jason out when she had the chance.

Sighing, Bruce tossed his damp towel on the back of a chair as he walked around the bed. He didn't feel comfortable leaving Dickie alone after this last close call and knew Alfred would be busy looking after their guest. Bruce slipped under the covers. He'd just rest for a few minutes, just to be sure that the child wouldn't be plagued with nightmares before he headed down to the Batcave to add to his growing file on the Gray Woman.

She hadn't followed them from Olympus. That had to mean she wasn't intending to destroy the world just yet. Perhaps there was still time to come up with a plan. Rhiannon's people had defeated her once before. Certainly, they would be able to do so again. The loss of Olympus was a setback to be sure, but in the tale the druid priestess told, their army had been aided by only eight of the Celtic Pantheon. The Justice League was filled with its own god-like beings. Superman alone was worth several of the Greek deities combined.

His eyelids heavy, Bruce allowed them to close . . . just for a moment. He would just rest for a minute or two . . . until he was sure that Dickie wouldn't awaken.

It was his last thought for hours.

* * *

"May I help you, madam?" Their guest had rested enough, apparently. Her long hair was twisted up in a messy bun on the top of her head, held in place, Alfred was startled to note, by her newly acquired toothbrush. "Oh dear . . ."

Rhiannon has spent the last fifteen minutes roaming the mansion until her nose led her to the kitchen. She wore one of Bruce's dress shirts that Alfred had supplied her with, covered with a large terrycloth robe. He noted she carried with her both daggers, tucked incongruously into the bathrobe's belt. She padded barefoot into the room, unconcerned with the state of her attire, and looked curiously about.

"The kitchen is apart of the house?" she asked, rolling a small bit of jewelry about in her hand. "You don't fear a fire?"

"We have precautions in place," the butler assured her. "Modern conveniences were designed with safety in mind. The kitchen has become something of the heart of the home since your time."

"Such a grand abode for a man with but two sons. I was expecting there to be a large extended family when I first saw the building," she commented as she leaned over the stove to peer into the steaming pot. "Mm. That smells delicious."

"It is an ancestral home, and it would do my old heart good if the Master would settle down and create a large family to fill the halls of the manor," Alfred admitted as he filled a bowl of the hearty stew. He handed the bowl to the young woman but caught himself as he remembered her age. _She isn't exactly young, though, is she_? He believed her to be human, however. He wondered how that worked.

He pulled the loaf of freshly-baked bread from the oven and set it on a cutting board. Instead of taking a seat at the table as he had expected, Rhiannon propped herself on the barstool that lined one side of the island, sliding her amulet over her head. As she did, the sleeve of the robe fell back, revealing the previously unnoticed injury she received from her host while on Olympus.

"You are injured," Alfred exclaimed. "You should have said something. I am a fair hand at the healing arts." He should have noticed in the bathroom when she had disrobed, but it wasn't her wrist that had begged his attention. He had left the room without a glance back.

"Tis nothing," she assured him as she dug into her meal with gusto, apparently too hungry to care. "Mm, thank you," she murmured, taking a bite. "I have missed real food."

"Real food? I'm afraid I don't understand." Alfred handed her two slices of bread from his loaf, still piping hot. Fragrant steam rose from the plate as he placed it beside her with a plate of butter and a pot of honey.

"Food in Faery only appears wonderful. The Fae do not have to eat as we do, and meals are merely a form of entertainment. As such, much of what you have is less nourishing or filling as it is made up of glamour. Still, you would seldom find yourself hungry there, at least, that is, until you leave."

"How is it that you have survived so long?"

The priestess tore the bread apart, dipping it into the butter. She closed her eyes as she savored the taste and texture. "Eventually, a human would waste away there, but in truth, I wasn't there long enough to do much more than lose a few pounds."

"Why were you there at all?" Alfred took advantage of her forthright manner to ask.

"Someone had to do it," she said. "I volunteered." Rhiannon dipped her bread into the stew and took a large bite. "So, I was sent there after the war," she said around the mouthful. "Hadn't even healed up from my wounds when I left earth. Not that it mattered, you understand; the Fae can heal all but the most fearsome injuries.

"And one doesn't age there?" Alfred asked as he sat a glass of milk before her.

Rhiannon had nearly finished the bowl and was wiping the last of it up with her second slice of bread as she answered.

"Time is relative there," was all she told him. Picking up the glass, she downed half of it, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her robe, either not noticing or uncaring of the servant's sensibilities. She slammed it down on the counter with some force, but it didn't shatter. "That was a fine meal," she announced.

"I am pleased you enjoyed it. I regret that I must inform you that, although your clothing is now clean, I was unable to get rid of every stain. I did take the liberty of repairing several tears, however," Alfred told her as he removed her dishes. "Your garments are available to you now should you wish to change."

Rhiannon sighed, rubbing the texture of the robe fondly. "Many thanks for your kindness. I suppose I should."

Alfred's mouth quirked. "You may keep the robe you are wearing if you like. We have others."

"That is a generous offer," she smiled, "but I am a warrior first and foremost. The coming of the goddess made sure of that. Lovely as this is, it wouldn't stand a chance of surviving a battle."

"I do believe the robe is meant for the time following the battle, miss."

The priestess rubbed a hand along the ultra-soft collar as she reconsidered. "Very well then, as long as your master will not protest."

Alfred suppressed a sigh. "Master is merely a title and a form of respect, priestess. Bruce does not own me. I worked for his parents and raised him after their passing. I would not dream of leaving his employ, but I am free to do so should I wish it." He finished wiping the countertop and folded the hand towel. "Master Bruce would not miss it, I assure you, however, if he were to take exception, I would simply replace it with another."

Rhiannon bowed her head. "You are a free man. My pardon, then. It is a lovely gift. I thank you for it."

"Of course, miss. You are most welcome."

She smiled suddenly, thrilled with her gift. Her face seemed to light from within. Despite the two thousand years and more that had passed since she had last walked the earth as an inhabitant, Alfred could see that she was, in truth, a young woman in her twenties, _no older than Miss Gordon_ , he thought, but with more experience under her belt that even Batgirl could match. It was there in the young woman's eyes. Hers were the eyes of a soldier, one who had seen vast numbers of her people die in a battle she had not expected to survive, one who was prepared to face her worst nightmare for the sake of a world she no longer understood.

"You may call me Rhiannon," she declared.

"You are a guest . . ."

"We contemporaries, fellow servants, if you will. You to your employer and I to humanity."

"Be that as it may," he said, "you are a priestess . . ."

"I was – once." Rhiannon shrugged dismissively. "No more, however. I refuse to worship gods who would desert the earth like rats on a sinking ship."

"As I understand it, seven of your gods died defending earth," Alfred reminded her.

"Hm, yes, but they are dead gods now, their blood soaked into the same ground as a thousand of my fellow priests long ago. The one god who survived left after the battle, following her cowardly brethren to the safety of another dimension. So then, should I worship at an empty altar?" she asked.

Alfred nodded, accepting her reasoning. "That is a point well taken, Miss Rhiannon."

She grinned suddenly. "I might consider worshipping at the foot of your cooking fire, however. That stew was wonderous and the bread divine."

Alfred chuckled. "I'm hardly worthy of such a compliment, but I thank you nonetheless."

"Humble as well," she noted approvingly as she stood up. "I wish to walk the earth and feel the grass and soil beneath my feet if it is allowed."

"Of course. Although, the day is chill, the gardens and surrounding woodlands are there for you to enjoy. Be aware of the ravens in the trees. While I doubt the birds would do you harm, I fear they are the minions of the Gray Woman."

"She watches you?"

"She watches Master Dick, I'm afraid," Alfred frowned.

"Yes. She has attached herself to the child," Rhiannon murmured thoughtfully. "It was during the attempt to free the hidden memories from the boy's mind that she began her attack on the Greek gods."

"Were they able to succeed in recovering Master Dick's memories at all?" Alfred asked.

The woman shook her head. "Nay. The child's memories were not hidden but stripped from him completely, I think. There were none there more than a few days old we were told."

The older man sat down heavily on the chair at the table. "Is there is no hope left of restoring the boy to his former self?"

"Hope is a fickle thing," she told him. "Sprouting up just when you believe all is lost."

Alfred watched as the young woman, unconcerned with the cool temperature of the day, exited through the back of the kitchen to the gardens and paths beyond.

* * *

"Are you really two thousand years old?"

Rhiannon didn't bother turning from the view; she knew who her companion was. Too many years had passed since last she gazed upon the sea. Her gaze drank the vista in thirstily. The ocean pounding the rocks on the beach below her brought back cherished memories of her childhood on the coast of Cumbria that overlooked the Irish Sea.

"I was wondering when you would stop spying and join me here." Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the boy step up into her periphery. Tugging her amulet from the terrycloth pocket of her robe, she slipped it over her head.

"When did you realize I was following you?"

"When you climbed down from the old oak tree to follow me after I passed beneath," she answered lightly. "You realize that it is too early in Spring for there to be sufficient leaves in which to hide you properly from view?"

The boy made a face, signaling his frustration. "I'll work on it."

"Which part?" she asked, amused. "You weren't any better at the sneaking than you were at the hiding."

He looked annoyed. "I wasn't actually trying to hide," he grumbled.

"Oh, that's good then," she said, her lips quirking upwards, "because you're rather bad at it."

Although, peeved at the remark, the boy chose to ignore it. "You never said how old you are."

"I? I am but a score and seven years," she told him. "Although, more than two thousand years have passed since I've been able to walk the earth for longer than an hour at a time. Not quite the ancient hag you were expecting, hm?"

"Are you human?"

Rhiannon looked at Jason then. He eyed her suspiciously as if expecting her to lie to him. He'd be disappointed, though, as she never lied. Why bother when the truth would always out itself in the end?

"Don't I look human?"

He appeared skeptical. "Superman looks human."

"I do not know this Superman," she said, fingering her amulet.

"He's an alien, and you're avoiding my question." The boy was nothing if not tenacious.

"I am human."

"So, how is it that you're still alive?"

"I've been living with the Fae," she told him. "Time moves differently in Faery than it does here on earth, you understand. A thousand years on earth is but a day there. Counting today, the war has been but six days ago. I still had the stink of death beneath my nails until Alfred introduced me to the wonders of your indoor fountain."

"What fountain? Oh, you mean the shower."

She nodded. "Just so. I cannot imagine what other marvels await to be discovered."

"Why did you come back now?"

"I come back to guard the box. My orders were to stay in Faery, keeping watch over the box. I only return to this plain of existence whenever it was disturbed," she explained, "using a portal that would open wherever the box existed."

"The box? Are you talking about the box Bruce has down in the cave?" Jason blurted.

She glanced at him curiously at the revelation. "Has it managed to come so far?" The box was no longer a concern now that the goddess had escaped its confines.

"How many times have you had to do that?"

"This time was the fifth."

"So, what happened this time that was different than the others?" he asked her.

Rhiannon's jaw tightened as she turned away once more. "I failed in my duty. Now, the earth will suffer for my mistake. I showed mercy and, being foolishly ignorant of the enormous advances in technologies over time, I allowed the box to escape me."

"You succeeded in guarding it for two thousand years, though. That's got to count for something. Right?"

Her mouth twisted bitterly. "We are not judged for the number of our successes, Jason, but by our failures."

Jason shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders against the chill of a sudden breeze. "Man, that's kind of depressing."

She lifted a shoulder dismissively. "The truth is bitter more often than it is sweet."

He turned toward her. "You're a glass half-empty kind of person, aren't you?" When she didn't remark, he continued. "You know, if this all goes as predicted, there will be no one left to blame you . . ."

Her fingers played with her amulet as she snorted. "Is there supposed to be a silver lining in there somewhere?"

"I'm just saying . . ."

"Do not make excuses for me," she snapped.

"Why do you keep messing with your necklace?" Jason asked, changing the subject.

"The necklace? You mean my amulet?" Rhiannon lifted the stone to gaze at it.

"Did someone give it to you?"

"Of course, someone did," she smirked. "How else would I have gotten it?"

When no further answer came, Jason prodded a little more. "Someone special?"

"Depends on what you consider special," she said, shrugging. "It was a gift from Mab, Queen of the Fae, to aid me in my task. It allows me to communicate with those who speak a different language. One person had called the amulet a "Rosetta" stone, although I do not understand the reference."

"I've heard of that," Jason exclaimed. "It's this big slab of stone that had a story written on it in three languages. One language that scientists already knew helped them interpret the other two languages that weren't." At her look, he shrugged. "We had it in history class last week. I paid attention."

"Ah, I see . . . although, that isn't how the amulet works."

"Yeah, and? . . . Wait. You're not just gonna leave it like that, are you?" Jason complained.

Rhiannon smiled. "It's magic."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Funny."

"Is it? All I know is that we wouldn't be able to understand each one another without it."

"Prove it," Jay challenged her. "Say something without it on."

Rhiannon took several steps away from the edge of the overlook. Taking the amulet off, she laid it across a nearby rock. Turning back to the boy, she said, "Eow sind an ungerisenlice eafoera." [You are an annoyingly persistent child.]

Jason blinked at the foreign words. "What did you just say?"

Rhiannon picked up the amulet back up, dropping it back over her head. "I said, you ask a lot of questions."

The boy frowned at her but didn't challenge the veracity of her translation.

"It is _my_ turn to ask the questions," she said to him. Although, Jason appeared less than pleased with her pronouncement, he didn't cavil. "You will tell me why it is that your father chooses to dress as some sort of bat creature?"

Interestingly, the boy mood shifted with the change in subject matter.

"So that people don't recognize him," he snarked sarcastically. "He has enemies, you know, people who would go after him at home or the people he cares about if they knew his identity . . . And, he's _not_ my father!"

Curious over that amount of vitriol she discovered in that last comment, Rhiannon decided to persist a little herself. "Really? Have you told him this?"

"He wants to adopt me," the boy blurted.

"This is a bad thing?" She was a little confused at why this would rankle Jason so much. Wouldn't such an event be an honor?

"Bruce doesn't really care about _me_. He's only offering to, so he can adopt Dickie."

This only made her even more curious, as she would have sworn that the child she had met on Olympus was the man's own flesh and blood. "You're saying that the little one isn't his son either?"

Jason shook his head. The conversation was going in a direction he didn't want to travel. She suspected this might have had something to do with the reason Jason had been perched in the oak tree earlier.

"Where are your parents?" Rhiannon asked although she thought she already knew the answer to this one.

The boy confirmed this a moment later. "Dead," he mumbled flatly. "Both of our parents are dead."

She thought about this for a long moment. "Is Batman, Bruce, a relative, then?"

Jason heaved a sigh. "No. Can we change the topic?" he asked, looking longingly back in the direction of the manor.

"He is obviously wealthy, so, he bought you both? Do you live here as a slave or indentured servant, perhaps? Does he mistreat you, then? Is that why you wish to leave?"

Jason finally looked up at her, gaping. "What? No! He didn't– He doesn't . . . Look, I don't want to leave. Bruce is training me to be a hero – like he is, like Dickie used to be."

"An apprentice? You are his protégé."

"No. Well, kind of. He didn't buy me or Dickie. He found me on the streets. Caught me trying to boost the tires of the Batmobile," he confessed, blushing a little, though he didn't look especially embarrassed by the admission.

"Boost?" Rhiannon's hand went back to her amulet. "I'm not certain that translated correctly."

"It's slang. It means that I was trying to _steal_ the tires from his car."

Surprise lit her face. "Wait. He wants to adopt you as his son despite your attempt to steal from him? In my world, you would have been flogged in the streets or had a hand removed for your crime, but you are saying he wishes to train you up to follow in his footsteps. I don't understand. What is your complaint? You should be on your knees, praising the gods for such blessings!"

Jason shook his head. "The world's changed. People don't flog or do that other stuff anymore." If he looked confused, however, it was no more that how she felt herself.

"You could be a beggar, or in prison, or someone's slave, but instead he takes you into his home, feeds you, clothes you, educates you, training you to follow in his footsteps as a man would a natural son of his loins. Jason, can you not see? You are already this man's son. How is it you are angered by this?"

"You don't understand," he snapped at her, his voice rising.

"No. I don't," she admitted this freely. The man was either a fool or the boy a viper. She felt the tinges of disappointment.

"Look. He's only doing all this because of Dickie."

"Because he's your brother," she guessed.

"No, he's not my brother. Bruce took Dick in years ago when he was even younger than me but older than he is now. He raised him. Don't you see? Dickie is the one he loves, not me. Dick was the first Robin. I'm just the replacement." Jason told her angrily.

"I had heard that the gray goddess had changed the child from a young man," she murmured thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Jay grumbled. "Dick is should be five years older than me. He and Bruce apparently weren't getting along then, but now . . . after this, Dickie's this cute little kid, all helpless and stuff. Bruce wants to take him back in and raise him again, only this time he wants to adopt him officially as his son. Bruce is only offering to adopt _me_ because he has to."

Rhiannon glanced back in the direction of the manor and the people it housed. It was passed the trees, however, and beyond her sight. She looked back at the boy beside her, so neglected for love he couldn't recognize it when it was right there in front of him.

Sighing, she couldn't help wondering why she even cared about this man and his small family when death was but a breath away. They should be right now gathering their armies and planning their strategies. The same trick they had gotten away with before wouldn't carry the day a second time. Despite the gravity of their situation, Rhiannon couldn't stop herself from saying something to ease this boy's anxieties, for it was for this reason, the chance to love, that they fought to survive. Without love, death from the struggles of the world would be a relief.

"Jason," she said, "I've only just met the man, you understand. I know next to nothing about him, but I've always been observant of the people around me. In that short amount of time, I've determined that Batman is strong-willed, stubborn – obstinate even.

"I find it impossible to believe that he would take such an enormous step as adopting you as his son just because he decided to adopt another unless he truly wanted you. Certainly, you know him better than I. Could anyone force this man into doing something this significant against his will?"

Jason stared at her silently. She could see that he was considering her words carefully, perhaps more confused now than ever. She probably shouldn't have spoken. It was unlike her to get involved emotionally like this after struggling so hard to distance herself in order to become a weapon of war.

She didn't know why she would choose now, of all times, to intrude in an issue that didn't concern her. She needed to get her mind back to what mattered most: stopping the gray goddess from destroying their world. Her hand slid to the hilt of one of her blades.

"Do you know how to use that knife?"

Jason's question brought her out of her own thoughts. She pulled her favorite dagger from the robe's belt, flipping it up into the air. It spun several times before she caught it smoothly upon its descent.

"I do," she said. "Do you?"

He gestured at the blade. "The pointy end goes into the other guy."

Her laugh startled her considering the seriousness of her thoughts only moments ago.

"Something like that," she agreed, "but there can be a bit more to it than that if you hope to live through a fight." She sized the boy up, determining he was big for his age. "Would you like for me to show you a thing or two?"

His eyes lit up, his worries forgotten in the sudden excitement of learning something new. "You would do that?"

Rhiannon surprised Jason by drawing the second dagger she carried from its sheath. She handed the second dagger to Jason with a flip of her wrist, handle first. He took it tentatively.

"We're going to use real weapons?"

"Of course! You wouldn't believe how fast one learns when there is risk of dismemberment involved," she told him, smirking.

"It won't bother your injury?" he asked, nodding to the strip of cloth binding one wrist.

 _Injury_?

Honestly, she had all but forgotten it, the wound inflicted on her by Batman's batarang. "Tis only a scratch," she said, waving off the needless worry. "Now, to start, you should be holding the blade like this."

* * *

Whatever chill was in the air had been forgotten; Jason was sweating an hour later. The priestess knew her stuff. _But, of course she would_ , he thought, panting. She had literally fought off hundreds of zombies in the war with the Gray Woman with only her blades and her sword.

The idea of having to battle it out on a field surrounded by the undead in various states of decay sounded a lot more exciting when Jason had thought zombies nothing but Hollywood actors in makeup and not something real. Rhiannon had spoken of the battle openly as she had demonstrated moves and shown him examples of how to kill a being that was already dead. What chills he received now came from her matter-of-fact explanations given with the certainty he would need this knowledge all too soon.

"Pay attention," the priestess told him, demonstrating again a move designed to dislocate a kneecap. "This may save your life one day. Even the undead are disadvantaged when their legs are broken. Much easier to separate its head from its torso if the creature is forced to crawl after you. The weight of a sword adds strength to your blow."

"I don't have a sword," Jason reminded her.

"No worries. I'll get you one," she promised.

Jason imitated the move easily. Batman had already shown him this trick, but Rhiannon's take on it was even more simplistic and practical than Bruce's moves. In war, there was no time for flair or style. She praised him for his quick study.

"You get it done and move on quickly," she had told him. "Standing still with bodies moving all around you is the fastest way to die. You must also be watchful and prepare to strike at your allies as well because within moments of their death, the witch's magic will draw them back into the battle but this time as enemies."

He had stopped to gape. "You're friends?"

"Once they have died on the enemies' blade, they are friend no more," she warned. "Sentimentality will only get you killed. You will either learn quickly how to determine friend from foe or you will join the legions of the undead yourself."

"But what if she doesn't do that? What if she kills everyone like she did in Bludhaven and Olympus," Jason asked, "turning them to dust?"

"A more merciful end to be sure, but will afford us no opportunity to stop her," Rhiannon told him. "We stand a better chance if we're given an opportunity to fight and must go into battle with this in our minds or we have lost ere we start."

Standing up, she faced off with him once more. "Take up your blade," she ordered. "I will show you how to separate an enemy's head from his body in the most efficient manner. Come at me swinging."

If his humiliation at Dick's hands hadn't been bad enough, Jason prepared himself for yet another humbling lesson at the woman in front of him. At least twenty times she had disarmed, disabled, and slammed him bodily to the ground as Rhiannon slashed, hacked, stabbed, and basically tried to gut him. Amazingly, other than a few bruises and a sliced shirt, Jason hadn't gotten a scratch on him. Mud – yes, but a cut from a careless blade, not once. The warrior priestess had absolute control of her weapon and her body. Jason's fumbling attempts hadn't come close to marking her.

At first, he had been careful not to accidentally cut her, but minutes into the lesson had proven to him it wasn't even a possibility. He would thrust, and she simply wouldn't be there. It made his training much more effective as he could throw himself into the fight wholeheartedly without fear of harming her. Bruce would have a cow if he saw them. What they were doing wasn't safe in the least. Jason was forced to remember every detail of his instruction else risk serious injury.

This was sharp metal and hard ground with a few hidden stones strewn amongst the tall grass to make it interesting, and all of it promised to be a catastrophe waiting to happen. But, after an hour of this, Jason trusted her skills. Perhaps if she had given him time to breathe, he might have had time to worry, as it was, however, every ounce of his energy and thought went into staying ahead of her blade and foot.

Jason tried to remember everything she had shown him as he leapt forward, slashing at her face. As with every other time, the priestess moved out of the path of the blade even as she grabbed his wrist and swiftly disarmed him. Stepping beneath his arm, she pegged him three times in the ribs with the pommel of her dagger, each move imitating a fatal blow had it been made with the blade. The next thing he knew, she was behind him, his back bowed as she yanked his head back. He felt the kiss of her blade touching the skin on the back of his neck, but no sting, her control of both him and her weapon complete. Had she plunged the dagger at that point, she would have severed his spinal column between the C2 and C3 vertebrae.

"From here, you would move the blade to the– . . ." she began to say.

Suddenly, Jason felt heat along the back of his neck, followed by a cold, stiff breeze. The pressure on his body disappeared and he staggered to keep from falling on his ass. As he spun around, Jason saw a furious Superman holding Rhiannon up by the front of her robe, her weapon now lying useless on the ground, the blade still glowing red hot.

Clark looked at Jason. "Are you alri-?" His question was cut off when Rhiannon twisted in midair, kicking his jaw closed with her bare heel. Unprepared for such a move, she had managed to snap the Man of Steel's mouth shut.

Rhiannon used his surprise to slip out of the robe. Wearing only one of Bruce's oversized dress shirts, she rolled with her landing, coming up onto to her feet even as she recovered her blistering hot dagger by its wooden handle, lifting and throwing it in one smooth motion.

"Jason, run! Get your father," Rhiannon snapped, snatching the second dagger from the ground at his feet. She shoved him in the direction of the house. "Use the trees for cover."

Jason stumbled a few feet before regaining his balance. "Wait! Stop!" he yelled, spinning back toward the combatants.

* * *

Superman caught the dagger an inch from his face. He hesitated, however, when the woman appeared to turn protective toward the boy she had just attempted to kill.

"Who are yo-?" Again, his question was interrupted by yet another blade, this time, the blade glancing harmlessly off his cheek. The woman had the aim and arm of a professional athlete. Only Jason's words stopped him from retaliating.

"What is going on here?" Clark demanded.

"He's a friend," Jason was telling his assailant. He looked up at Clark. "She's the priestess we've been looking for. She was just showing me a few offensive moves."

Clark scowled. "Really? Because it looked as though she was about to kill you to me."

"She was training me, honest," Jason continued to insist as Superman slowly sank to the ground.

"That was training?" He narrowed his eyes at the priestess. "Playing kind of rough, weren't you? He's just a boy."

Rhiannon sized the man up. This was the alien the boy had spoken of? He carried himself as one of the gods. "His youth will avail him not against the Raven Empress. Better that he knows how to protect himself than let him die at the hands of her minions."

Clark lifted an eyebrow. "Minions. Never thought I would be hearing that word used in a sentence. Who is the Raven Empress?"

"Another name for the Gray Woman," Jason explained. "She's not a threat, I swear. Bruce brought her home. He's letting her stay at the manor."

"I suspect the invitation will be rescinded once he learns that you two were going at each other with daggers?"

"Well, no, but she wasn't hurting me," Jason insisted again for good measure. Bruce would be furious if Clark turned the priestess against them all. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"No, I won't tell him," Clark said, turning the boy in the direction of the house. " _You_ will."

Jason groaned as he headed back, feet dragging.

Clark tossed the robe to the woman and her dagger at her feet, but the priestess caught them both out of the air handily. She quickly donned the robe and shoved both now-sheathed daggers back into the terrycloth belt. The look was incongruous at best.

"Are you the alien, then?" the woman asked when she was finished.

Clark never thought of himself as an alien, and he discovered that the question irked him. "I am," he admitted disgruntledly. "You aren't like any priestess I've ever known."

The woman twisted up her dark hair and secured it to the top of her head with – Clark blinked – a toothbrush?

"You've known a lot of druid priestesses, have you?" she asked in reply, apparently undisturbed by the struggle that had occurred just moments before.

"Not a lot, no," he answered.

"So then, what does ' _super_ ' mean anyway?" she asked, changing the subject to him once more.

"You could define it as 'more than' or 'extraordinary'," Clark murmured.

She looked him over again, critically, but didn't seem overly impressed. "We shall see soon enough, won't we?" she told him cryptically.

"Let's be clear," Clark dropped his voice so that Jason wouldn't overhear what he had to say. "You harm one hair on that boy or any of the manor's occupants, you will be answering to me."

"I think you'll be too busy to concern yourself with trivialities," Rhiannon told him flatly.

When she turned to follow Jason's path, Clark flew ahead to join the boy, purposely blocking the priestess' view with his own indestructible body. He had little doubt that Jason would not appreciate the move should he noticed what Clark was doing, but the move wasn't intended for Jason. A glance behind him told him that she knew exactly what he was doing. That she appeared to be amused by it, surprised him somewhat, but it wouldn't prevent him from providing a protective barrier between his friend's family and any perceivable threat - even barefooted ones wearing a mud-splattered terrycloth bathrobes and toothbrushes in their hair.

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Yes, I'm back . . . Not certain how quickly I will be posting my chapters, but I'm hoping it won't be months between them as it was between the last chapter and this one. I have started working on the next one, however. I am anxious to hear from you, so don't be shy. Review! ;D Here's hoping you all will get the update when this one posts.**

 **The calm before the storm . . . Things pick up from here as the plot progresses. Nap time is over, boys & girls!**


	24. Fortune's Favor

**Warnings: Some Language . . .**

* * *

"Are you the only one coming?" Jason asked. He looked back at the Man of Steel over his shoulder.

Superman finally stepped up to walk beside the boy. "We're meeting with the rest of the League in a few hours at the Watchtower. Bruce wanted me to stop by here first."

The two of them walked the path back towards the manor together. Which was an improvement as Jason had felt like he was being herded until now. Rhiannon, he knew, was following behind them, keeping several yards back to either giving them privacy or because she was sizing the new guy up. She wasn't intimidated by Superman, however, that much was obvious. Jay understood that the woman had taken on a goddess and her zombie army and all, but she also didn't know who she was dealing with yet either.

 _ _It's a good thing they're on the same side__ , he decided, though. He had no doubt the priestess would be willing to do anything to achieve her goals, including locating the kryptonite needed to take down the Man of Steel if necessary. She had found a way to the gods of Olympus. Finding a lousy chunk of kryptonite would likely be a cakewalk for her.

Jason looked up at Clark and asked him what was really on his mind. "You aren't going to tell Bruce, are you?" When Clark didn't answer immediately, he continued breathlessly. "I promise, he's not going to care. He'll probably be grateful for the extra training because he hasn't had time to work with me for several days. He wouldn't want me to fall behind, you know."

Clark returned the look, raising his eyebrow. "If you really believed that, Jason, you wouldn't be so worried about my telling him what you were doing out here."

Jason huffed. "I'm not worried."

"Mmhm," Clark hummed. "You do remember I have super senses, don't you?"

The boy shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Now that he wasn't expending energy, his sweat seemed to magnify the chill in the air. He fought not to shiver. Bad enough that Superman thought he couldn't take care of himself and realized Jason was worried, Jay didn't want Clark noticing he was cold, too.

"She didn't hurt me," he said. "Honest."

Superman stopped walking and turn toward him. Reaching over, he plucked at Jay's hoodie, poking his fingers through the brand-new hole across the front. The material had been sliced through so neatly that the threads hadn't even begun to fray, a testament to how sharp Rhiannon's blades truly were.

"It's just a jacket," he muttered, ducking his head. He had forgotten about the jacket. "I don't have a scratch on me."

After a moment, Clark started walking again. "No scratches, but I can see several fresh bruises," he told the boy over his shoulder.

Startled, Jason clutched the front of his jacket together, looking offended. "Hey! Quit peeking!" he yelped as he ran to catch up. "I got those only because we weren't doing this on the mats. I've had worse bruises after sparring with Bruce."

"That's not exactly a glowing recommendation, Jason. You are still just a boy," Clark said, ignoring the teenager's disgruntled outcry. "And did you not consider that you could have stabbed your sparring partner during the fight?"

"Yeah, right. Like that would've happened," he snorted.

"Accidents happen, Jason," Clark reminded him. "Good intentions or not."

"Yeah, but it wasn't like a __real__ fight, just a little sparring match," Jay replied defensively. Actually, it had been - at least for him - not that he'd admit that to Superman. "Rhiannon's an amazing fighter - you know, for a girl."

This earned him another disbelieving glance. " _ _For a girl__? Wonder Woman is a 'girl'," he reminded the teen.

Jay scoffed, waving the comment away. "Wonder Woman isn't a girl," he said. "She's an Amazon."

Superman chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I wouldn't let Diana hear you say that, if I were you."

This time, the pink in the teenager's cheeks wasn't just from exertion. "Okay, fine," he agreed, "but Wonder Woman isn't exactly human like the rest of us." Ignoring Clark's look, Jason clarified. "You know what I mean. Wonder Woman is more like you. Rhiannon, though, she's human just like Batman, just like __me__."

Superman pursed his lips together, refraining from commenting.

"I bet she could even give Batman a run for his money," Jason added, his hero-worship showing.

"You think so, hm? All the same, Jason, those daggers were deadly. I know that Bruce wouldn't approve of you training with an unknown opponent with real weapons."

"That's not true!" Jason exclaimed. "Bruce lets me train with real weapons all the time."

"Throwing batarangs at dummy targets in the safety of the Batcave is not the same thing. You know this."

"Look, just . . . Don't tell him. Please?"

Clark sighed. "I'll have to think on it."

As they rounded a grouping of trees, the house came into view. Jason could see Bruce and Alfred standing on the patio watching Dickie as he played with the dog. __Hippo__ . . . Jason shook his head. Still funny, although not as much as Bruce and Alfred's faces when Dick had blurted out 'Ur-Anus' or even 'Booger'. He noticed the exact moment Bruce saw them and his gut clenched, his heart skipping a beat.

Okay, so maybe he __was__ nervous. Bruce had asked to adopt him and, as much as Jason wanted not to care, he also didn't want to piss the man off and giving him a reason to rescind the offer. Like Rhiannon had said earlier, it was a really good offer.

Truthfully, it was the best deal anyone had ever given him.

Jason tugged lightly on Superman's cape. "Could you think on it a little faster. Please?"

"Jay-Jay!" Dickie squealed loudly enough that the ravens surrounding the house fluttered their wings anxiously before settling back into their watchful perch. The boy made a beeline for them, running as fast as his little legs could go. Hippo raced behind him, barking madly.

Just as Dick launched himself, Jason opened his arms to catch him. The child's weight was enough to nearly stagger the older boy. Jay held the child out and tugged on his shirt.

"What are you wearing this time?" he asked. The toddler wore a long-sleeved, green t-shirt with more writing on it. "I'm not a Leprechaun. I'm just short," Jay read aloud, laughing. "Who brought you this one?"

"I'd bet money on Flash," Superman said, smiling.

Hippo leaped against Jason's legs, eager to gain his attention as Dickie hugged the young teen once more.

"I missed you, Jason!" Dickie announced happily.

As the toddler pulled back to grin at him, Jason ruffled the dark hair affectionately. "I missed you too, you little brat. Stop going on adventures without me."

Dick's eyes widened as his smile fell away. "No," he exclaimed seriously. "It was scary!" Leaning in, Dick whispered in Jason's ear. " _ _She__ came. She was eating __everyone__! She almost ate Hippo, but R'anus saved him."

Jason's heart skipped another beat as he stared at the boy in horror. Schooling his face carefully so as not to alarm the child further, Jay tried to reassure him. "You're okay now, though, Dickie. You and Hippo made it home safe and sound. You know, Bruce wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Of that, Jay was certain.

"Diana kissed Bruce," Dickie announced suddenly.

"What?"

This caught Superman's attention as well. "She did?"

Dick nodded solemnly. "Bruce wouldn't open his eyes. She had to push on him right here to wake him up," he told them, pointing to his own chest.

Jason blinked. "Wait – what?"

That didn't sound like any type of flirting Jason had ever heard of, not that he could imagine Batman stopping to kiss someone in the middle of a Gray Woman attack. Maybe Dick was getting mixed up. Clark's face changed as understanding dawned on him.

"CPR," Superman said. Jay glanced up at him. "Diana wasn't kissing him," he explained, "She was performing CPR."

Jason's eyes flew to where Bruce waited on them with Alfred. The billionaire didn't look as though he was on death's doorstep. He looked as strong and as vibrant as ever, but Jason abruptly remembered how tired he had appeared when they had first arrived. Bruce had been sporting dark circles for days now as he tried to sort out who the Gray Woman was and how to stop her, and with the announcement of his sudden decision to adopt him and Dickie, Jay hadn't paused long enough to consider it might be for reasons other than late night hours.

"I maybe cried a little," Dick admitted quietly.

"It's okay, squirt," Jason whispered as he hugged the child close. "He's okay. You're okay."

"Bruce threw up a bunch of water. It was gross!" Dick scrunched his nose as he made a face of disgust. On the rugrat, however, it was just cute.

"Gross? Where'd you hear that word?" Jason asked, looking the kid over. Something was off.

Dick threw his arms up dramatically as he continued his narrative. "And then, and then," he exclaimed breathlessly, "and then, we jumped through a fairy hole!"

"A fairy hole?" Jason frowned as he tried to keep up.

Rhiannon, catching up with them, explained. "I opened a portal to Faery. We used it to travel the distance from Greece to Gotham after we escaped from Olympus."

"Interdimensional travel?" Superman asked. "You __are__ full of surprises."

She shrugged. "I try to be helpful."

"Hi, Superman," Dick finally greeted the newest visitor. "Can I have a ride? I want to fly. Please?"

Jason frowned. "Hold up! Wait a minute," he blurted suddenly. "Since when can you __talk__?" Jay gaped at Dickie in confusion. __That__ was what was different.

"Jay, you're so silly." Dickie put his hands on Jason's cheeks and touched his nose to the other boy's. So close together, Dickie's eyes crossed as he looked at Jason. "Can you hear me now?" he yelled.

"I can hear you just fine, but when did you learn how to speak properly?" Jason asked, wincing at the volume. "Were they able to fix your memories on Olympus?" That didn't seem right either since, if Dick's memories had returned, he wouldn't be so happy seeing Jason.

Rhiannon laid a hand on Jay's shoulder. "No. I'm sorry," she told them. "They tried but there were no memories left to return. The Goddess, it seems, had stripped them away completely."

Jason was careful to school his expression, but in his mind, he couldn't help feeling a little bit grateful. He liked Dickie this age and, without his memories, Dickie seemed to like him right back.

Hippo barked again for attention, so Jason handed Dick over to Clark as he bent down to greet the dog. The pup leapt up to lick and nip at his chin eagerly. Jason laughed.

"Hang on, mutt," he said as he picked her up. "Easy, Boog- eh, Hippo. Hold still!"

Hippo squirmed ecstatically, whining and barking as she attempted to cover every inch of Jason's face with dog slobbers. Dickie giggled, his earlier trauma forgotten. "Hippo missed you, too, Jay-Jay."

 _ _O-Kay, maybe the dog__ did _ _like him as much as Dickie__.

He sat her back down on the ground and watched as she ran around in circles, alternately jumping against Superman and Rhiannon's legs before running back to him. Jason slapped his thighs as Hippo ran ahead only to turn and run back, barking as if begging him to come play with her. It didn't take long before Jay gave in.

"Meet you back there," he waved to the others as he took off after the dog.

Dickie laughed, clapping his hands. "Come on, Superman," he urged. "Fly!"

Clark held the boy to his chest and lifted off, flying close enough to the ground that Dick could touch the grass. He squealed in delight. Jason glanced behind him before taking off, putting on speed, not that he could hope to beat Superman, but he couldn't resist.

"Higher!" Dick yelled. "I want to go higher!"

Clark obliged only a few more feet, keeping Dick about shoulder level to Jason as they flew alongside the older boy. Dickie held out his hands in front of him.

"Look, Jay-Jay! I'm flying," he laughed.

Hippo barked madly as she fell behind, her shorter legs unable to keep up with the contestants in the impromptu race.

Rhiannon scooped up the little dog in her arms as she jogged along behind the others. "Come on, Hippo," she crooned. "I'll give you ride, too."

As they neared the manor, Bruce stepped out in front of Jason and caught the boy in his arms. "The winner by a nose," he declared, allowing himself to indulge the small act of playfulness.

Superman turned on his back and tossed Dick up in midair. The ravens screeched and lifted into the air in pursuit. Seeing the huge black birds swooping in towards the boy, Rhiannon dropped the dog and pulled her daggers, preparing to skewer the birds before they could reach their prey.

"No! Don't!" Bruce yelled at her, even as he shoved Jason behind him.

Clark flew up and caught Dick at the apex of his flight, wrapping his cape around the child protectively. The ravens circled the man in a threatening manner but didn't attack as he cradled the boy during his descent. Rhiannon held back but didn't sheath her knives as she waited to see the outcome.

Clark landed beside Bruce, chagrined. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I wasn't thinking."

Rhiannon reached the group as she eyed the birds warily, daggers at ready. "What the hell was that?"

"Believe it or not, the ravens are only wanting to protect the boy," Bruce explained.

He, too, watched as the Ravens settled down, landing on the roof and on the outdoor patio furniture. They were disturbingly close after that, as if unwilling to be out of range should something untoward again happen to their charge.

"Except their talons cause as much harm as if they hadn't helped," Jason grumbled, stepping out from behind Bruce.

Rhiannon considered the child again. The goddess she had experienced had never shown a trace of mercy or exhibited any affection toward any creature except the large black birds. She leaned in toward Bruce, whispering so the ravens wouldn't be likely to overhear, "Ares was right. This __could__ be used to our advantage."

"No one will be endangering the boy under my watch," Bruce growled.

"Of course not," she agreed, but there was no missing the calculation going on behind her eyes. "She would only need to believe it to be so."

Clark unwrapped the squirming child and set him on his feet.

"That was fun," Dick exclaimed. "Do it again!"

Superman ruffled the child's hair affectionately. "Sorry, kiddo. Maybe later."

Hippo eased up to the nearest raven, stretching out her nose in its direction. When the bird flapped its wings, resettling itself as to gaze menacingly at the small dog, Hippo backed away as if sensing her own danger. She headed back to the sheltering comfort of her humans, taking up position between the relative safety of Jason's feet.

"So, why did you want me to meet you here rather than the Watchtower?" Clark asked.

"I have some important errands to run that cannot be put off any longer," Bruce explained. "I need you to keep an eye on Alfred and the boys while I'm out. If the Gray Woman appears, do not engage her. Get Alfred and the boys away." He glanced at Rhiannon. "And, Rhiannon. We need her knowledge in order to prepare for any offensive measure. I expect to be gone for the rest of the afternoon, then, we'll go to the Watchtower together when I return."

Superman nodded in agreement. He enjoyed spending time with the boys the last time he was here. It wouldn't be a hardship. While he might prefer to handle the Gray Woman himself, he respected Bruce's wishes. After hearing the fate of Olympus, he understood the wisdom behind that caution.

"But you only just got back," Jason blurted, the complaint slipping out.

"I know," Bruce told him. "We have some unfinished business ourselves, you and I."

Jason's heart gave a kick at the reference. So, he hadn't screwed anything up by leaving while Bruce had been in the shower earlier. Bruce wasn't the same kind of man as Jay's father had been, but Jason still had trouble remembering he didn't have to walk on eggshells around the adults here. It took years to ingrain the habit; Jason told himself that it was bound to take more than a few months to undo such learned behavior.

"I'm sorry for having to place your training on the backburner as well," Bruce continued, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder to show his sincerity. "I promise, once we know the world is safe, we'll take up where we left off."

Jason glanced nervously in Superman's direction, but when the Man of Steel and the priestess kept silent, he sighed and nodded both in relief and acknowledgement. "S-Sure. That'll be fine," he agreed quickly.

Bruce narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the teenager's easy capitulation, but there was no time in his schedule to question when favor smiled on him. He accepted Jason's undemanding response gratefully as he turned to go inside and change.

Jason sighed, turning to the others. "So, now what?"

Rhiannon smiled. "More training?"

"No," Superman stated with finality. "Sorry, Jason, but any training you receive will be under the guidance of Batman. No one else." He sent a look at the priestess to emphasize the point.

"Very well," Rhiannon nodded. "I am going inside. You will let me know when you change your mind."

Jason looked between the uneasy allies. Superman stared at the woman's back with a grim determination, while the priestess appeared surprisingly unconcerned compared to the intensity of their earlier conversation. His lips twitched, however, at her words.

"She said 'when' . . ." he remarked.

"I heard," Clark snapped, interrupting him.

His attitude was unlike the stories Bruce had told Jason about the so-called 'Boy Scout', who seemed to see the good in everyone until they gave him reason to distrust them. "Why don't you like her?"

"Indeed, Master Kent," Alfred said as he took Dickie from the former's arms. "She does not appear to be untrustworthy. If anyone would have reason to be wary, it would be Master Bruce, and yet he has opened his home to the young woman."

Superman ran a hand through wavy hair. He had made his decision to keep Jason's secret for a time. It wouldn't do to spill the beans now. "I don't know, Alfred. I just don't know her well enough yet."

"I think I understand," the butler murmured, "but it might behoove us to remember that our guest is not only from another time and place with differing customs but, I suspect Miss Rhiannon might also be suffering the effects of PTSD. For her, the war with the Gray Woman was less than a fortnight ago."

"I see your point, Alfred," Superman agreed, but he continued to stare at the manor as if still following the movements of the woman in question. He shook his head after a moment and smiled at the boys. "I hear you're pretty good at your video games, Jason. Are you up for a little competition?"

His secrets safe for now, Jason's worries evaporated with the idea of playing against the Man of Steel.

"You bet!"

"Can I play, too?" Dickie squealed.

"'May I play, too?" Alfred reminded the boy. "Perhaps once we change your clothes, young sir," Alfred told the child. "Breakfast is over and should not linger throughout the day upon one's shirts."

"Do you want to play, too, Alfred?" Dickie smiled.

"We shall see, Master Dick, but only after you change," the butler said as he led the child back into the manor.

"Kay," Dick agreed excitedly. He waved at Jason. "Wait for us, Jay-Jay! Me and Alfred wants to play, too!"

Alfred sighed. "Alfred and I, young sir."

"I said that," Dick smiled up at him before bounding ahead. "Hurry, Alfred! Jay's gonna start without us."

* * *

He found her office located in the downtown district of Old Gotham, but not far off from City Hall and the Courthouse and conveniently near Gotham City Police Headquarters. Here there were a few smaller restaurants and bars run by the small business owner and interspersed with both law offices, a family-run grocery, and Brownstone homes in various stages of repair.

It was quaint and reminded Bruce of the pictures he had seen of Gotham City some fifty years ago. He was pleased with the revitalization of the older neighborhood, done by private owners rather than larger real estate moguls who would prefer to tear down the historic district and replace it with high-rise apartments and vast stretches of shopping mall with its convenient underground parking and high-end restaurants. It was an attractive area, despite a few broken sidewalks due to the overrun of roots from the trees that lined the streets.

Despite being here for over a year, this was Bruce Wayne's first time visiting the office. He plastered on a vacuous smile as he was met with the somewhat harassed-looking secretary manning the front desk.

"Bruce Wayne to see Congresswoman Gordon, please."

The young man blinked up at him as recognition flared in his eyes. "Mr. Wayne? Oh, um, yes, of course . . ." His eyes flew over the schedule in front of him, searching in vain for the missing appointment. "I didn't realize you had an appointment."

The dark-haired fellow, who couldn't have been more than twenty-two, flipped the pages with increasing panic. "I beg your pardon, sir, but when was your appointment scheduled?"

"Oh, I don't have an appointment," Bruce murmured, letting the young man off the hook. "She is in, isn't she? I would come back but my own schedule is quite pressing. I'm off to the slopes in a few hours. Taking some time to get in a little skiing over the next few days at this private little Swiss chalet hidden away in the Alps," he told him with a wink.

"You don't have an . . .," the man trailed off. Instead of looking relieved that he hadn't misplaced an important meeting, his anxiousness seemed to increase. What did Barbara do to the poor fellow?

"Gee, I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne," he said, "but the Congresswoman is quite busy this afternoon. I'm not sure that I can fit you in."

Bruce let his smile slip as he raised an eyebrow. "I won't take long," he assured the secretary. "I'm certain she'll want to speak with me . . . I'm sorry. What was your name again?"

"Um, G-Gre-Greg . . . Uh, Gregory. Gregory's my name . . . sir, b-but my friends call me Greg," he stammered.

"Hmph," Bruce grunted. "Do you mind introducing me to the Congresswoman, Gregory?"

Greg swallowed hard as Bruce stared him down, allowing himself to channel a little of his alter-ego to the surface. He was not leaving here without accomplishing what he had set out to do.

"Ms. Gordon asked to not be disturbed."

The plea was there in the man's voice. If it weren't for Dick and the fate of the universe, he might have left, but there was nothing for it. Bruce already knew which office belonged to her.

"Not to worry, Gregory. She won't blame you for the interruption," Bruce squeezed the younger man's shoulder as he stepped around him and headed for the door at the end of the short hall.

Another woman peeked out of the room to his right as he waltzed past. He heard her whisper to the ineffectual Gregory over his shoulder.

"Is that Bruce Wayne?"

Greg followed behind. "Please, Mr. Wayne . . ."

A quick turn of the knob, Bruce opened the door, stepping into the office. Congresswoman Barbara Gordon was at the window, turning slightly to see who had entered as she spoke into the phone.

Gregory shoved into the room next, edging around Bruce. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Gordon. He was insistent on speaking to you."

She held up a finger as she wound up her conversation. "I apologize, Bob, but something has just come up. I'm going to have to meet you later to finish discussing the proposal. I hope you can come up with something more convincing, however, if you want my support in this."

Barbara met Bruce's gaze with a slight frown as she hung up the phone. "Mr. Wayne. This is an unexpected surprise. It's alright, Gregory. I've known Mr. Wayne for years. He's a personal friend of my father's."

Gregory looked like he had been given a last-minute pardon as he quickly nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. There was no little amount of awe in his gaze as he did so.

"You have your secretary kowtowed, Congresswoman," Bruce remarked casually.

"He's one of my aides, not a secretary. My normal receptionist called out this morning," Barbara explained as she held out a hand. "What brings you do my door, Mr. Wayne? I do believe this is the first time you've ever come to my office. Last time I saw you . . ."

"Was the victory party last year," Bruce finished for her, shaking her hand. "How has the job been treating you? I hear that politicians will often eat their own."

"There is nothing I can say that will disprove that rumor." She smiled, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk. "To what do I owe the privilege of this visit?" she asked, bringing the topic back to business. "As I recall, you are friends with my father, not necessarily with me. Although, I do thank you for your support during my campaign."

Secondhand but not threadbare, he noted, preferring to stand. He rested a hand on the back of it. "I need a favor," he began.

"A favor? Just so we understand one another from the start, I will not compromise my professional and moral ethics for the sake of one of my father's friends – even rich and powerful ones like you, Mr. Wayne," Barbara stated, crossing her arms. "Now that that is out of the way, what sort of favor are we talking about?"

"Is that what you think of me, Barbara?"

She sighed. "No. Not really. Dad has always been a good judge of character and he likes you, respects you, despite your reputation. I'm not sure what sort of favor you expect of me, but I'll hear you out – out of respect for my father."

"I need your help, Barbara, but not the political kind," Bruce began.

He had kept their civilian relationship cordial, inviting her to his social gatherings with her father, but never spent more than a few short minutes with her before excusing himself. Their not so public relationship, however, had been built on respect over a long period of time, but the Batman had preferred to keep his two identities separate and secret from the younger Gordon.

Although, Bruce had attempted to discourage her from crime fighting for her safety as much as for his friendship with her father, but the woman had been tenacious. Her style of fighting has stemmed as much from her ballet talents as from several years of Judo training. Surprisingly effective, she had honed her physical talents on the battlefield of rooftops and back alleyways, but it had always been her mind that had been Batgirl's greatest weapon. Eventually, respect for her contributions to his cause grew enough that he stopped trying to discourage her. Who was he to deny a worthy ally, after all?

During high school, Robin had developed a boyish crush on the much older Batgirl during shared patrols and during cases in which the two's paths would cross. Bruce knew Dick had longed to reveal his identity to her, but Batman had forbidden it, knowing the boy's feelings would never, or at least should never, be reciprocated. Bruce was familiar with unrequited love enough he had hoped to spare Dick the same pain. Barbara Gordon was a US Congresswoman. There was simply no way she could allow her reputation to be sullied by rumors of inappropriate misconduct with a teenager, not if she wished to continue her political career.

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Wayne," she appeared confused.

"It's Bruce. We've known each other long enough that you can call me Bruce."

"Despite how long we've known one another, Bruce, we've never been more than acquaintances. You were kind to a friend's daughter." Barbara sat on the edge of her desk. "Now, why don't we stop beating around the bush and you tell me why you've really came here?"

"Ah, but we've been more than acquaintances, Barbara. We've been allies in the war on crime here in Gotham City for years." He watched her face closely, waiting for the moment she made the connection.

"Your contributions to the police department have been invaluable," she said cautiously.

"The time has come for secrets to be set aside. The need to know is greater than my need for autonomy – or yours . . . Batgirl."

He had to admit. Her control over her expressions was nearly as great as his own.

She laughed. "Bat- . . . Is that what you think? Whereby did you come to such a preposterous conclusion?"

He let the veneer slip. "It wasn't difficult to deduce. I've known your identity ever since the first night we ran into one another in that warehouse. Your attempt to rescue me from my kidnappers was admirable, but I already had the situation well in hand."

"Excuse me?" Her smile faltered. "I'm afraid that the only thing that Batgirl and I have in common is red hair. Hardly conclusive evidence."

"Just as it was convenient for Batman to wait to make his appearance until after I made my exit, wouldn't you say?" He took as step closer. "The distraction you caused certainly made it easier for me to change and return."

She chuckled nervously. "Wait. Are you're trying to tell me that __you__ are Batman? Billionaire, playboy, philanthropist Bruce Wayne is __The__ Batman?"

He slipped his hand in his pocket, retrieving a batarang. Barbara glanced at it briefly before turning and walking behind her desk. Opening a drawer, she pulled out one of her own that was nearly identical to his.

"This is Gotham City," she said, tossing her weapon onto the desk. "Batarangs are a dime a dozen. Vendors hock them on the street corners to the tourists. I can't imagine there is a household within Gotham's city limits that doesn't have a few of these tucked away in the junk drawer to entertain visiting relatives."

She picked hers up and tossed it back into the drawer. "Why are you doing this? If you're trying to impress me, I don't . . ."

"Does your father know?"

He purposely dropped his voice, picking up the gravelly tone with ease. In the beginning of his crime fighting career, he had practiced it in the mirror and used a recorder to determine the amount of danger he could project with his voice alone. Nowadays, he found it necessary to practice Bruce Wayne's speech more than Batman's.

Barbara froze, lifting her eyes up to meet his and there it was, the recognition. The voice doing more to convince her than the batarang alone.

"That's . . . quite a trick you've got there," she stammered slightly.

He raised an eyebrow. "I never told him, you know" he said, speaking of her father, "although, I probably should have. You were tenacious, to say the least. I watched over you often in those first few months. Your technique in the beginning was atrocious and your successes were due more to luck than skill, but . . ."

"They were not!" she snapped, slamming the drawer shut.

". . . you improved over time," he finished.

Barbara walked around the desk, not stopping until she stood inches from him and glared into his face. "Why now?" she demanded. "I've been doing this for five years and you've never said a word. Now, out of the blue, you show up at my office - in broad daylight, mind you - and tell me that you're the Batman? I ask you again, why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I need your help."

The shock of his asking for her help was greater than his announcement that Bruce Wayne was Batman.

"You've never asked for my help before. What's changed? Why would you risk your identity in my very public office?"

"A war is coming."

She rolled her eyes, spinning around to drop into one of the visitor's chairs. "I hate to break it to you, Bruce, but there already is a war in Gotham. Isn't that why you chose to don the cape and cowl in the first place?"

"This war isn't about crime. It isn't even about Gotham City."

"So, what's my part in all this?" she asked.

"I – need you to look after Gotham for me," Bruce told her.

She sat up straight, frowning. "Why? Where are you going?"

"With the Justice League to fight this war on the front line, but I can hardly do that without knowing that Gotham, at least, is in good hands."

She was quiet as she processed this. It was a lot to take in. This was hardly the way he wanted to do this, but he was out of time. He couldn't lay Gotham on her shoulders without also giving her something in return and five years was more than enough time to have earned his trust.

"Your ward, Dick Grayson . . . He's Robin, isn't he? Circus background, if I remember right." And she did. "Why did it not occur to me before? Looking back on it now, it all seems so obvious."

He didn't comment.

"So, where is Robin in all this?" Barbara asked him. "I would have imagined you would prefer going to him for help before turning to me?"

His jaw tightened. "I'm afraid we cannot rely on Robin for this one."

"Why the hell not? Although, now that I think about it, he hasn't been around much lately. I remember reading that the Joker had shot him. Did- Did he . . .?"

"I fired him," Bruce admitted.

"What? Why?" She sounded shocked. "Did he finally get tired of obeying your constant orders?"

He turned away to wander over to the pictures hanging along one wall. Framed photographs of Barbara with her father and the mayor. Another with the governor and one with the president. She was making a name for herself. He wished there was another way he could do this without her, but it was all hands on deck and he refused to leave Gotham unprotected. Although, if he failed there would be nothing that Batgirl could do to stop what was coming.

"I fired him because it grew too dangerous. It's too dangerous for you as well, but Gotham needs your help. I need your help."

Her gaze turned inward as she considered the task before her. "Yeah, well, this town's villains are no push-overs. How long do you expect to be gone because I may need a little help myself? I've never had to handle the city alone for more than a few nights. I could use Robin's help. Could you call him back?"

He shook his head. "No. It's impossible."

The glare was back, and she stood. "Well, swallow your damned pride for once. You are going off to God knows where for who knows how long. Gotham's a big city and I'll need his help keeping the crazies under control once your absence has been noted."

"Dick couldn't help you now even if he wanted to."

"Wait . . . You said you fired him," she said. "No one's seen him in Gotham for months. I assumed he went away to school, but is it something else? Something you're not telling me?"

Bruce glanced at the window.

Barbara huffed and marched over to her door, opening it. "Everybody out!" she yelled. "You have the rest of the day off."

Startled, several of her aides stepped out into the hall to stare at her.

"Go home – now. I'll close up," she reiterated.

Greg spoke up. "But you have to meet . . ."

Barbara interrupted him. "Take the book home with you, Greg, and reschedule everything else I have today for next week." She closed the door on their shocked faces, locking it behind her.

Bruce frowned at her. "You shouldn't have done that. They know I'm still here. Rumors will fly . . ."

She waved the implications away. "They're loyal. I can trust them not to talk."

He merely raised an eyebrow, having been the grist for Gotham's gossip mill ever since he returned to Gotham permanently twelve years ago. While he could ride out any scandal, politics were far less forgiving, and he wasn't certain being romantically linked to Bruce Wayne would hurt or enhance Barbara's burgeoning career.

"So, talk," she ordered.

"Something else," he murmured quietly.

Her face rivaled the color of her hair as she grew angry. "Must you be so closed-mouthed? If you trusted me enough to reveal your identity, enough to lay the responsibility of Gotham at my feet then tell me - What the __hell__ is going on?"

He sighed. "It sounds insane."

"I've met the Joker, Bruce. I'm acquainted with 'insanity'."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Fine. The earth – the __universe__ ," he corrected, "has been slated for destruction."

She blinked. "Alright, I'll admit I wasn't expecting that . . ."

He went on. "A being of immeasurable power – a goddess, if you will . . . We've been calling her the Gray Woman - she intends to destroy the universe and everything in it."

She blew out a breath. "I don't envy you that battle, but I don't understand why this would prevent you from reinstating Robin. If anything, I would think that you could use all the help you can get."

Bruce finally took the seat she had originally offered him. As she watched he ran his hands over his face. He suddenly looked exhausted.

"When Dick left Gotham, he found a new identity for himself – something not connected to the Batman. He called himself Nightwing and moved to another city that was in desperate need of its own hero. Bludhaven."

Her eyes widened at the name. The news had been flooded with non-stop reports of the devastating loss of life since the incident.

"Oh my God!" she gasped. "Th-That thing that happened in Bludhaven last week. He was there?"

"He was . . ."

"Then, Dick? H-He's gone?" She stumbled to the chair across from his, sitting heavily.

"No. Not gone, not exactly," Bruce told her. "The Gray Woman was responsible for all those deaths, over eight hundred people dissolved into a fine gray powder. Of course, Dick would investigate. At some point, he met up with her face-to-face. How he escaped with his life, I don't know, but he didn't come away from the incident unscathed. He was . . . changed. She had changed him somehow and stripped him of his memories."

"Changed how?"

"A child, Barbara. She changed him into a child."

She stared at him in disbelief. "That must be the insane part you were referring to?"

"Everything about this is insane," he blurted out in frustration.

"Is he okay?"

"Physically, he had a few minor injuries, but other than that, he appears to be a typical toddler. We've approximated his age to be around three years old."

"How could you possibly know it was Dick?" Barbara asked. "Did he recognize you? No, you said something about this Gray Woman stripping away his memories? How much are we talking about here?"

"All of it. When I found him, he could barely string a few words of English together. He didn't recognize me, nor did he know his own name. Somehow, he had made it back to his apartment before the change was complete. At first, I thought the child was Dick's son." Bruce admitted. "The boy was an exact replica."

"Obviously, since it __was__ him." Barbara finished for him. "Okay, enough of that. The important part is that you figured it out. What I don't understand is why? This Gray Woman just murdered eight hundred people, but turns Robin – Oh, sorry, Nightwing – into a tiny child. It makes no sense."

"I don't pretend to understand her reasoning. Her DNA is off the chart. I've never seen anything like it."

"You have her DNA?"

"I can only assume it is hers. It was blood found at the epicenter of the dead zone. It is so different from any other DNA charted within the known universe."

Barbara stared off in the distance as she rolled around the pieces of the puzzle in her mind. "The question remains, why did she stop?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment, allowing for Barbara to consider the facts she had so far. Perhaps she could see something that he had failed to notice. She looked at him, her own brows drawn together in concentration.

"You said her intention was to destroy the universe and it appeared she was content to begin the destruction in Bludhaven until Nightwing . . . Instead of killing him, she turned him into a child and left." Barbara murmured. "Is it possible that she isn't coming back? Could he have somehow convinced her to spare us?"

He shook his head. "She plans to return. This is only a reprieve. It will not last," Bruce told her. "And, next time she comes, she plans to destroy the earth before take Dick with her."

"So, Dick is the key to all of this," she surmised.

He wished she was not correct, but he had long since admitted the same thing to himself.

"It would be helpful if we could learn what happened between the two of them," Barbara said. "Have you looked into that? A neurologist or perhaps a hypnotist might be able to help."

"I doubt a hypnotist would succeed when the Greek gods could not," he sighed. "I petitioned them to return Dick to normal, retrieve his memories."

"I take it that didn't work out, or you wouldn't be here now."

"I suspect that only the Gray Woman herself is capable of returning him to normal," Bruce told her.

"And, how likely is that to happen when she is the one who turned him into a child in the first place," Barbara finished for him. "I can't help but wonder, if somehow the earth survives this calamity, what are you going to do with him?"

He frowned at the question. "I will raise him, of course."

* * *

The world was going to end.

It was too much to take in. She couldn't allow herself to consider it, it would only lead to a defeatist attitude and she had seen this man overcome seemingly impossible circumstances before. Batman's will was the most formidable she had ever encountered, and Barbara couldn't imagine him not conquering anything when he had set his mind and that amazing will to it. So, she looked to what would come after . . .

"Mr. Wayne – Bruce . . ." Barbara hesitated a moment before continuing. "I know you and Dick had some sort of falling out. I won't pretend to understand your relationship; I barely know either of you outside of the mask. In either guise, you were both so secretive . . . but, maybe this is an opportunity to do things differently."

When Bruce remained silent, she continued.

"I mean, I can't see you willingly giving up being Batman. How much more difficult will it be with a small child depending on you? What will happen to him if one day you don't come home? Have you considered, after all this craziness is over, about giving Dick a chance at a normal life with a real family? One without crime fighting."

Bruce stood up, whatever warmth she might have pretended was there had gone to ice. She hopped up as well. She was likely encroaching in an area she wasn't wanted, but like Bruce had just admitted a few minutes ago, if this life was too dangerous for a highly-trained young man, how much more so would it be for small child?

"Bruce, please, just hear me out," she said hurriedly. "It couldn't have been easy for him growing up as the ward of Bruce Wayne. Perhaps no one had the nerve to say anything to you to your face, but I heard the rumors, the gossip. I suspect that he had as well. High society never really accepted Dick and some of the things said about him, the two of you, were terrible, beyond cruel. Those times I met him during parties and at other social events, I could see his loneliness . . ."

"I'm adopting him this time around," Bruce interrupted her.

"You think that will make a difference?" she asked, not without sympathy.

"I'm going to claim he is my biological son from a previous relationship," he told her through what sounded like gritted teeth. "He'll be a Wayne."

"You don't plan to tell him the truth, then?" she asked curiously. "About who he really is?"

He blew out his breath. "I don't know, Barbara. But, without his memories and the emotional ties to his past, telling him the truth may do him more harm than good."

"Not telling him could have consequences as well," she pointed out doggedly. "He has a right to know . . ."

"He has a right to know – what, Barbara?" Bruce retorted. "What purpose would it serve? Will it make him happy? Will it give him back anything other than a tragedy he can no longer remember, a trauma he can do nothing about? Unless we can return those memories to him, there is nothing in his past but pain and confusion to be gained in revealing it to him."

This wasn't going like she expected. "It just doesn't seem right to lie to him."

"You were just telling me only moments ago that I should give him up so he can have a normal life. If I did that, he would never know he was ever Robin. What about that truth?"

"Well, yes, but you yourself admitted to firing him because you felt it was too dangerous. How do you expect to keep him from following in your footsteps yet again at perhaps and even younger age?"

"He __never__ followed in my footsteps," Bruce countered sharply. "Robin was a path Dick chose for himself. I was there to train him, guide him, and protect him in situations he could not handle on his own."

Barbara felt herself step back in the face of Bruce's anger. Others blazed hot, but Bruce Wayne's temper was glacial.

"You were correct in one thing, Barbara," he told her. "You __don't__ know us, and the way things are headed, you never will. I came here today to ask you to watch over Gotham in my absence. Now, can you do this or not?"

"Okay, I realize I may have overstepped my bounds in this," she admitted softly.

"Yes or no, Ms. Gordon."

She winced. She was back to Ms. Gordon again . . .

"I'll do it," she said quickly. "Of course, I will. I love Gotham City."

"Is that what you have been telling yourself is the real reason you became a vigilante?" Bruce asked her. "I remember it differently. There was no trauma to give you that thirst for justice as I recall, just the thrill of the hunt and a chance to thumb your nose at your father. It was for this reason that I discouraged you from crime fighting from the start. After a time, you became competent, but the passion that fueled Dick's fight had never been yours."

Bruce paused, his hand on the door as he prepared to leave. "If this task is too difficult for you, tell me now. I will find another to protect Gotham in my stead."

"I realize I may have spoken out of turn," Barbara told him, "but I __can__ do this, Mr. Wayne. Don't worry about Gotham. I'll protect it."

He opened the door. As promised, everyone had cleared out. The office was empty except for the two of them.

"I'll always worry about this city, Ms. Gordon. Just know that if we fail in to win this fight, the cost will be more than just our lives . . . Everything we care about will be gone - forever."

As the door closed, Barbara Gordon shivered as a chill ran through her.. Whether it was because of the frigid atmosphere left behind Bruce Wayne, the response to the task he had set before her, or the knowledge that the end of everything was looming over them, she couldn't tell. Well, she had been wanting a new challenge. What was that saying? 'Fortune favors the brave'? Or was that 'the foolish'? She couldn't remember, but was left wondering what fortune had in store for her.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **I'm pretty sure there will be a few reactions.**

 **I took this Batgirl from her early days, before DC decided to scrap her accomplishments in order to make her young enough to reciprocate Dick Grayson's childish crush without having Batman drop her off at her father's feet for a felony.**

 **In this version, Barbara Gordon is 28/29 years old and in her second term of office as a US Representative. She began her career as Batgirl at 23 after she had completed her Masters degree in Library Arts and computer science. (I'm going ahead and adding that caveat, just know that in the 70s, careers in computers were up there with rocket science and space aeronautics. Home computers wasn't a thing until the 80s.)** **And, another aspect I pulled from the 70s, Barbara Gordon was unaware of Batman and Robin's secret identities. In fact, Dick Grayson didn't know who Batgirl was either. Bruce kept that knowledge to himself and for a long time did try to discourage her from joining his fight out of concern for her and respect for her father.**

 **Although, my story is set in the here and now, I've plucked the characters themselves (their accomplishments and personalities) out of different decades as it suited the plot.**


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